


The Chemistry Between Us

by Vampire_Penguin



Category: Breaking Bad, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Breaking Bad Fusion, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ben has to be forcibly given a clue, Ben is much nicer than Walt, Don't mess with Rey, Everybody lives happily ever after, Except Snoke, F/M, Fake Dating, Fluff and Humor, Fluff with bite, Happy Ending, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Kylo's a pussycat really, Multi, Partners in Crime, References to Drugs, Rey knows what she wants, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-15 15:59:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16936260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampire_Penguin/pseuds/Vampire_Penguin
Summary: In the desert town of Jakku, New Mexico, mild-mannered high school chemistry teacher Ben Solo teams up with ex-student and part-time meth cook Rey Niima to raise funds for his mother's medical treatment. Hijinks ensue...Or, the Breaking Bad-themed screwball rom-com crime caper Reylo AU that nobody — including the author — knew they wanted.





	1. It's Going to Be Fine

**Author's Note:**

> Breaking Bad is the most brilliant and wonderful thing ever, but it is also extremely grim, heart-breaking, and violent. This fic is… not. It shares a premise and some thematic elements, so is still basically a story about criminals and drug dealers — but it’s a very sanitised and fluffy one. This and the original BrBa are both crime stories in the way that The Wire and Brooklyn 99 are both cop shows :)
> 
> I'm having a blast writing it. I hope anyone who reads it does so too!

‘Cancer,’ the doctor says.

He says other things too, involving long, complicated words that Ben should be able to understand because he’s supposed to be _smart_ , goddammit, but he doesn’t hear them because he hasn’t really heard anything at all after the word _cancer._

And then they’re back outside in the baking Jakku heat, although Ben’s not sure how that happened, and his mother’s patting his arm.

‘It’s going to be all right,’ she says soothingly, as if she’s the one who’s supposed to comforting _him_ , and Ben’s not sure how that happened either. Except he is, because comfort, optimism, hope — that’s her thing. That’s what Leia Organa _does_.

‘There are treatments,’ she says. ‘You heard him, Ben. There are things we can do. It’s going to be fine.’

He moves his head, but all his muscles and nerve-endings feel numb and he’s not sure if it comes out as a shake or a nod.

Treatments. Yes. But treatments cost money. A _fuckton_ of money. And that’s something they don’t have.

Leia runs a food bank. Amilyn is a painter. His father barely scrapes a living from small-time DUI’s and drug busts — hardly enough to pay for those horrible, cheesy, _Better Call Solo_ adverts — and Ben is a high school chemistry teacher. Those are not _fuckton of money_ occupations.

‘It’s going to be fine,’ Leia says, more forcefully this time.

Ben lays a hand atop hers, where it rests on his arm. ‘Of course it is,’ he says.

She frowns a little, but he lets her search his eyes for a long time. Eventually she nods, seemingly content that he believes it.

Which is good, because he does. Not because the universe is a kind and just place, or because hope and optimism ever did a single goddamn thing for anyone, but because, whatever it takes, he’s going to _make_ it fine.

Whatever it takes.

* 

Operation _Fuckton of Money_ doesn’t get off to an auspicious start.

Ben checks the job adverts, but while evening/weekend jobs are reasonably plentiful, ones he can actually do are less so, and ones he can do that also pay seven-figure salaries are, unsurprisingly, non-existent. There’s one at a local car wash that he considers for a while — mixing practical thoughts of the _something’s better than nothing_ variety with fantasies of becoming an international car thief — to the extent of going down there and checking the place out, but then he sees one of his more obnoxious seniors take in a Maserati, and imagines being on the receiving end of the look of casual contempt aimed at the poor guy wiping down the tyres, and that’s the end of that idea.

He starts up his Aztek — a far more sensible choice than a Maserati; _so_ much better mileage — and goes back home. Unfortunately, Han is there, and his parents are apparently set on proving the truth of the old adage about thoughts of death making people want to celebrate being alive by having sex. Extremely loud, vigorous sex.

Ben hightails it out of there even faster than he did at the car wash and heads for the one place he can just about guarantee nobody will be having sex: Uncle Luke’s.

Luke Skywalker, legendary DEA agent, is not only married to his job but totally and utterly faithful to it. There is, according to Luke, no sexual encounter in the world that can match the sublime ecstasy of taking down the bad guys and making the streets safe for the good, law-abiding people of Jakku. Teenage Ben thought this meant Luke simply had to be doing sex wrong, but Nearly-Thirty Ben, from the vantage point of his admittedly not-tremendously-enormous experience, is starting to wonder. Sublime ecstasy hasn’t been a major component of any of his encounters to date.

‘It’s not too late,’ Luke says when he sees Ben. As he always does; that _comfort, optimism, hope_ thing is genetic, apparently. (Ben’s personality aberrations are all blamed on his father.) ‘You can still join the DEA. We always need good agents.’

Ben rolls his eyes and heroically doesn’t point out that yes, it is too late. He’s too old to start all over again, and he’d likely be a _terrible_ agent. From what he can tell an awful lot of it involves patience — stake-outs, surveillance, building evidence — and that’s never been Ben’s strong suit. And it’s not as if Luke earns seven figures either.

‘Come on a ride-along,’ Luke says, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘Get a feel for what it’s like.’

This is also something Luke says every time, and normally Ben blows him off. But he can’t go home, and he’s got nothing else to do right now, so… what the hell. He goes.

*

‘I’m just sitting in the back of the car,’ he protests, when he’s handed a bulletproof vest.

But Luke is insistent, and it’s not as if Ben hasn’t given enough lectures of his own about the value of proper safety equipment and protocols. He puts it on.

The house they’re watching looks perfectly normal, as far as Ben can tell; nothing to distinguish it from any of its neighbours. ‘What makes you think this is a meth lab?’ he asks.

‘Confidential informant,’ Luke says, at the same time as his partner says, ‘Snitch.’

Luke shoots Poe a look of long-suffering disapproval, and Ben hides a smile. Proper protocols indeed. He wonders if Luke grades his agents’ field reports like homework. Probably.

‘Our _confidential informant_ says an individual using the name Cap’n Cook operates from there,’ Luke says.

‘And lives up to the name,’ Poe adds. ‘But—’ he grins as the rest of the DEA squad, all kitted out with guns and respirators, converges on the house. ‘Not for much longer.’ He rubs his hands together. ‘So. What’s your bet, boss? We swinging for the record?’

Luke shakes his head immediately. ‘No. Not even close. This feels small-time. Singles.’

Poe sinks back in his seat. ‘No TV out of this one, then.’ He swivels around and looks at Ben. ‘Your uncle’s got the nose for this stuff. Never been wrong yet.’ He sighs. ‘Singles it is then.’

‘Singles?’

‘Single figures. Means we’re going to seize under ten thousand dollars, in other words. Not TV-worthy.’

Ben watches the agents take out the front door and storm inside. Ten thousand dollars sounds fairly worthy to him. ‘What _would_ be?’

Poe shrugs. ‘Last time we were on Channel 3 it was, what? Seven hundred?’

‘About that,’ Luke says, sounding uninterested.

For a moment Ben doesn’t get it — if ten thousand dollars isn’t enough to get on TV, how can seven hundred be? But then his brain catches up to what Poe said: if under ten is single figures, then the _thousand_ part of the number is being taken for granted. They don’t mean seven hundred dollars. They mean seven hundred thousand.

Ben swallows. ‘Is that… normal? That kind of amount?’

Luke gives a casual shrug. ‘It’s not the most we’ve taken.’

‘Right. Uh huh. So this meth business… it makes a fuckton of money, does it?’

Poe guffaws. ‘Oh hell yes. It’s easy money, kid.’ He thumps Ben’s arm. ‘Until we catch you.’

‘Could we take a look inside?’ Ben says. ‘See the actual lab?’

Now it’s Luke’s turn to swivel around, and Ben’s to try the casual shrug. ‘I just thought it might be interesting,’ he offers. ‘Seeing as I’m here.’

Luke hesitates for a second longer, then nods. ‘Okay, yeah. Just let us go and check it out first. Make sure it’s safe. Wait here,’ he says, and then he and Poe are out of the car and heading for the house.

Ben leans back against the leather seat, his heart hammering. _Seven hundred thousand_. Not straight away, obviously, nobody comes in straight at the top level of any business. But you can work up to it. Up to _seven hundred thousand._

Movement catches his eye, and he looks up to see a window opening at the condo opposite, and a small figure tumbling out of it onto the porch roof. A small, lithe, _semi-naked_ figure.

Ben sits up straighter as the girl, looking panicked, pulls what looks like a man’s shirt over her head. The moment overbalances her and she goes straight off the roof, landing in a heap on the lawn. He winces, but she immediately jumps up and pulls the shirt down. Luckily, the original owner is clearly tall enough that it fits her like a dress.

Said owner is presumably the bare-chested man in the window, frantically gesturing for her to get away from the house. She blows him a kiss then flattens herself against the wall, intent on the action going down in the meth lab on the corner. The panicked expression is back on her face.

Ben stares at her, frowning. Does he… know this girl? Is that… No, surely not… But then something makes her look over at the car, and their gazes lock. And he sees her lips form the word _fuck_ just as he feels his own form the name _Rey._

She presses a finger to her lips, her eyes wide and pleading, before darting to a red low-slung Chevrolet parked down the road. The car has a vanity plate: THE CAPN.

Ben watches her speed away, his mouth hanging open.

Rey Niima?

His old student, Rey Niima?

His old student, Rey Niima, is cooking meth?

Not particularly successfully, if Luke’s _single figures_ prediction pans out, but then she was never a particularly good student. Never _applied_ herself.

And that doesn’t seem to have changed much, if the lab Ben is finally allowed to peek into is anything to go by: it’s a mess. This girl doesn’t follow any kind of protocol, proper or otherwise.

‘No work ethic,’ he mutters, drawing a frown from Uncle Luke.

‘Or else they’d get an actual job,’ he adds quickly. ‘These people. Whoever they are.’

‘One of ’em’s Teedo Plutt,’ Poe says. ‘Cousin of Unkar, if I know my scumbag families correctly. We’ve got him squared away, although for how long is anyone’s guess, once the lawyers get involved.’ He spits on the floor. ‘No offence.’

‘None taken,’ Ben and Luke both say together.

Ben doesn’t have many things to thank his dad for, but having an occupation that’s even more spit-worthy than ineffectual high school chemistry teacher does happen to be one of them.

‘Oh, and you were right, Skywalker: it was singles. No camera crew for us tonight.’ Poe waves a roll of notes, then drops it into an evidence bag. Ben can’t stop his gaze following it.

‘There’ll be some paperwork,’ Luke says, ‘but if you want to wait, Ben, I’ll give you a ride home.’

‘That’s okay,’ Ben says, already backing out the door. ‘I’m not going straight back anyway. There’s someone I needto go and see.’

*

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck _fuck._

Rey tugs the tarp over her car, then drops onto the garage floor and tucks her knees up under her chin. She’d thought luck was well on her side tonight, to have the DEA roll up while she was out boffing whatever his name is, the guy down the street with the fairly nice ass and the much nicer Camaro convertible. It’d looked like she was going to get away clean and all would be right with the world — it was a bummer for Teedo, sure, but it _was_ kind of an occupational hazard, and better him than Rey herself, obviously — but then she’d looked up and there was _Mr Solo_ staring right at her.

Mr Solo. From school. Who knows who she is. And for some reason, was sitting in the back of a DEA car.

 _Fuck_.

And now he’s tracked her down and he’s _here_ , in her _house,_ because of course he is. Because luck is never on her side, and she can’t believe she ever managed to forget that.

Except…

‘I’m not here to turn you in,’ he says, hands held up in a non-threatening gesture.

Which is a bit of a shock, honestly, because Mr Solo never struck her as the sort to cut anybody any slack. God knows he never did her any favours when it came to her grades.

So what’s he here for, then? To try and save her soul? Rey narrows her eyes and waits for the _think about your life choices_ -type speech she assumes is coming, but he surprises her again. There’s no speech, no lecture, no judgement. Instead, what she gets is an offer.

_Partners._

‘You know the business,’ he says, for all the world like this is a perfectly normal conversation. ‘I know the chemistry. It’ll work.’

Rey just carries right on staring.

Is he _high_?

Or… is she? Did she hit her head worse than she thought, falling off that porch roof? Did the DEA spray the place with some kind of psychic tear gas? Is she hallucinating right now?

‘You want to be partners,’ she says. ‘With me. Cooking meth.’

‘I do,’ he says.

She reaches out and pokes him in the chest, because this shit just cannot be real, and okay, said chest is unexpectedly firm under the tragic old man green polyester shirt he’s wearing, and he makes this surprised little _ow_ noise, and that’s what makes up her mind. Hallucinations don’t go _ow_.

And now that Teedo got pinched she does, to be fair, need a new partner.

She sighs. ‘I’m probably going to regret this—’ She’s already got a seriously bad feeling about it — ‘But okay. I’m in _._ ’

 


	2. The Urge to Perform Nefarious Sexual Misdeeds

Mr Solo steals a ton of gear from the school and Rey steals an RV, and she’s starting to think this might actually have a hope in hell of working out, but she’s disabused of that optimistic notion within five seconds of them finding a suitably isolated cooking spot in the desert, when Mr Solo starts taking off his clothes.

‘Whoa, whoa,’ she says, backing away. ‘That was _not_ part of the deal.’

Mr Solo looks at her like she’s speaking in tongues, and carries right on stripping off. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘You,’ she says, trying to gesture in his general direction without looking. ‘That.’

She risks a peek and sees he’s stopped at his boxers, thank all that’s holy. The rest of his clothes, he puts on hangers that he then hooks over the wing mirrors. Which, okay, could be considered slightly strange behaviour for someone suddenly overcome with the urge to perform nefarious sexual misdeeds.

‘These are my good clothes,’ he says, in the kind of overly reasonably _what’s your problem_ tone that says she’s the crazy one. ‘I can’t go home smelling like a meth lab, can I?’

Rey blinks. Why not? She does. But then, thinking about it… she has no idea what his home life is like, since it never really occurred to her before that teachers had such a thing, but he probably doesn’t share a squat with the likes of Rose and Skinny Finn.

‘Oh,’ she says, as he puts on an apron. ‘Okay.’

But it’s not. It’s not okay at all.

The longer the cook goes on, the more Rey realises that it is very, very, fucking far from okay.

Because now that her eyes aren’t being assaulted by all that desperately tragic polyester, she also realises that — against all odds, sense, and probability — Mr Solo is _hot_.

She closes her eyes and tries that sentence on for size again.

Mr Solo is hot.

No. It feels like nonsense; like she’s just stringing random words together. The sky is banana. The sandwich is igloo. Linking two concepts that have absolutely no reason to be put together. Have no _right_ to be put together. It’s insulting to the laws of physics. Chemistry. Whatever.

Rey cracks open one eye. Mr Solo is grinding something up, the muscles in his arms flexing in time, and… oh God.The muscles, the chest, the smooth expanses of skin, the muscles, the thighs, the broad shoulders, the muscles…

Laws of chemistry be damned, it’s true. It’s all true. Mr Solo is hot. Hotter than a magnesium flare. Hotter than the goddamn _sun_.

How did she not know this before?How did she sit in his class all the time — well, some of the time — and not know? How did she not see the muscles, the incredibly luxurious hair, the hot cocoa eyes, the muscles, the…

She snaps out of it when he realises he’s calling her name. And from the irritated tone, has probably been doing so for some time.

‘Guh,’ she manages. Smooth, Rey. Real smooth.

‘Are you with me?’ he says, still irritated, and all she can think of is the connotations of the word _with_. She opens her mouth and what comes out this time is, ‘Yes, please.’

‘Maybe you should go and get some air,’ he says. The irritation is turning into something more like concern, and she can’t handle the idea of Mr Solo having concern for her right now so she just makes some kind of squeaking noise and does as she’s told.

Outside, she drops heavily onto the scrubby ground and just sits there for a while, breathing. Air. Air is good, yes.Oxygen. Good old O2.

She doesn’t remember that much about Mr Solo’s class, if she’s honest. But one thing she does remember is him saying, with a really intense look in his eyes… those lovely, deep, soulful eyes… that chemistry is the study of change.

Rey shakes her head. Something tells her there’s going to be a lot of that coming her way _._

She takes in another long, slow breath, then blows it out hard and goes back inside.

‘You okay?’ he says. ‘Maybe I should check your respirator. These fumes—’

She waves him back. ‘It’s fine. The respirator’s fine. No fumes. Everything’s under control.’

There’s a catch in her voice and a heat in her belly that might like to argue that point, but she doesn’t let them. It’s time to get herself together. She’s supposed to be the goddamn _professional_ here.

He clearly doesn’t remember that, though, because he orders her around in a typically teacher-y ‘do this, don’t do that,’ style. She chafes a little under it (or _most_ of her does; that traitorous heat in her belly tries to get her wondering about what other kinds of things he could order her to do, and she has to shut it down fast), but she’s got to admit the meth they end up with is worth the trouble.

‘There,’ he says, as they both stare into the tray. ‘Proper protocols create a chemically pure and stable product.’

Rey picks a piece up, turning it so it catches the light. ‘Fuck that. This is _art_ , Mr Solo. It’s a thing of beauty. _Glass grade_ beauty. Trust me, Unkar Plutt is going to wet his pants when he sees this.’

He’s clearly not as excited as she is, and the mention of Plutt seems to further bring down his mood. Which is something she can understand, to be fair. The thought of Plutt could sour anybody’s high.

He looks tired, so she offers to drive them back to Jakku. He doesn’t argue with her, which makes a nice change; just folds himself awkwardly into the passenger seat and rests his head on the side window.

She shoots him little sidelong glances that he ignores until she finally gives up and asks outright, ‘What’s the matter?’

He ignores that too, and it occurs to her, belatedly, to wonder why he’s here; why he’s doing this. It certainly doesn’t seem like it’s for fun.

‘Hey. I’m your partner. If there’s something going on with you, I need to know.’

He shifts, clearly trying to fit his massive frame more comfortably in the seat and failing miserably. ‘It’s not me,’ he says at last.

‘What’s not you?’

Another shift. Damn, but those legs are something. The tragic polyester slacks aren’t exactly form-fitting, but she can still see them stretch over the thigh muscles as he moves. She can’t help imagining what those thighs might look like up close, and that leads to imaging what might be between them, and _that_ leads to her nearly driving them into a ditch.

‘Shitty roads out here,’ she murmurs, but it doesn’t look as if he was paying attention anyway.

‘It’s not me there’s something going on with,’ he says, addressing the desert outside the window. ‘It’s my mother. She’s got cancer. Lung cancer. It’s bad.’

‘Oh. I’m sorry,’ she says, because it’s what you say. And also because, she’s surprised to realise, she is. Rey doesn’t usually do sympathy — she tends more towards the ‘life’s a bitch and then you die’ kind of philosophy — but he looks so lost and sad that some semi-atrophied sense of compassion wakes up and gives a little twinge.

‘So you doing this… it’s for her?’

He nods. ‘It’s possible there might be something they can do, but… it’s experimental, and insurance companies don’t like that.’

‘And I’m guessing it’s expensive too, huh?’

‘Yeah.’ He finally glances over and gives her a small, weary smile. ‘It is.’

Rey nods. ‘Hence the meth. I get it.’ She steers around a snake at the edge of the road. ‘Okay, don’t worry. You’ll get the money. I can get us a good deal on this stuff. It’s going to be fine.’

He looks a little surprised — maybe at her optimism, maybe at her use of the word ‘hence’; she’s not sure — and more than a little skeptical, but again he doesn’t argue.

That lasts for about another thirteen and a half miles, until they get back to town and she asks him where he lives.

His head snaps around. ‘Why?’

‘Because we need somewhere to store this stuff,’ she explains patiently. ‘I’ll take some for samples, obviously, starting getting the word out, but the rest of it we need to stash.’

‘At _my_ house?’ he says, like it’s the craziest idea he’s ever heard. Which, coming from Mr ‘Let me turn up out of the blue and upend your entire life’ Solo, is pretty rich.

‘No,’ he goes on, running a hand through his hair. ‘That’s not possible.’

‘Well, we can’t keep it at mine,’ Rey says, still doing her best to be patient.

‘Why not?

‘You saw where I live, right? The squat? That’s not exactly Fort Knox, man. No way I can keep it safe there. Look, it’s just for tonight, okay? I’ll make some phone calls, talk to some people. I can get a deal sorted out tomorrow, no problem. Just… hang on to it. Put it under the bed with your porn. I’m guessing the…’ she hesitates, because the idea has _literally_ just this minute occurred to her. ‘The wife doesn’t look there, right?’

He shoots her an indignant look and for a moment she thinks he’s going to say, ‘I don’t have porn,’ because that would be _so_ him, but what he does eventually say is, ‘I don’t have a wife.’

‘Oh.’ She shrugs, like it’s no consequence. ‘Girlfriend, boyfriend, dog, whatever.’

‘No to all of the above.’ He swallows. ‘My mom, though…’

Rey feels her eyebrows jump. ‘You still live at home?’

There’s a moment of what looks like chagrin, then his chin come up and the look turns challenging. She grins. He’s got a good _Wanna make something of it?_ face, when he tries. Could come in handy.

‘Hey,’ she says, waving a hand. ‘It’s all good. I had parents, I’d be sponging off them too.’

‘I don’t _sponge_ ,’ he says, but there’s no real irritation to it. ‘And it’s just me and my mom at home. My dad’s… ’ he trails off and shakes his head, like there’s no good word to finish that sentence. ‘He does his own thing.’

‘Don’t we all? ‘Rey says, and he doesn’t seem to have an answer for that. ‘So how old were you when they split?’

‘Oh, they didn’t. They’re still together. They just have some, uh, philosophical differences that tend to result in bloodshed and screaming if they actually spend a lot of _time_ together, so my dad has his own place. So does Amilyn. She kind of shuttles between them a lot of the time, but I think they all like having their own space.’

Rey shoots him a look. ‘Amilyn?’ she says, and he just nods.

She thinks about it. ‘You mean… they’re, like, a threeway? A threesome?’ Or is that just in porn? She thinks about it some more. ‘A triangle?’

A small smile tugs at his lips. ‘It’s a poly relationship, if that’s what you’re asking. And I think the trendy term is ‘throuple’ these days, although I don’t think you’d catch any of them using it.’

‘Whoa,’ Rey says. ‘ _Whoa_.’

He lapses into silence for a moment, and now he’s the one shooting her sidelong glances. ‘I, er, don’t normally tell people about that.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ Rey says. ‘I mean, Jeez!’ She slaps the steering wheel. ‘Your parents are _so cool_ , Mr Solo. How the hell did they have _you_?’

He’d stiffened in his seat, but now relaxes again. ‘That’s a question they’ve asked themselves many times, trust me,’ he says dryly.

‘Hey,’ she says, suddenly thinking. _Solo_ … ‘What’s your dad’s name? His first name?’

He hesitates for a second, then says, ‘Han.’

‘I knew it!’ Rey gives the wheel another slap, then clears her throat and imitates the high-pitched, breathless tones of the ad. ‘A DUI? Oh, no! I’d better call Solo!’

It earns her a long-suffering sigh. ‘Yes. That’s him.’

She grins. ‘Huh. How about that? Small world. He needs to get better actors in those things, though. I could do it, if he wants. You should tell him.’

‘I will,’ he says, a blatant lie, and goes back to staring out the window.

‘So where we heading?’ she asks, and finally pries the address out of him: Alderaan Lane, one of the nicer parts of Jakku. By the time she drops off Solo Junior — and the bulk of their crystal, despite his grumbling — at a nice-looking white-walled ranch house, she’s already on her cell. ‘Hey, Teedo, yeah. I heard you made bail. Listen, I need you to set up a meet for me with your cousin. Yeah, Unkar. I got something he’s gonna like.’

*

Leia is on the sofa with Amilyn, idly stroking her hair while they half doze and half watch an old Cary Grant film, when Ben comes home. Amilyn glances at the clock and raises her eyebrows, but it’s more in surprise than disapproval. Leia’s sure her own expression is similar; Ben’s never been one to stay out late. Which is a shame, really. A few wild nights out might do him some good.

‘Where have you been?’ she asks mildly, when he pokes his head around the door.

‘Oh, I was, er, with a student. A chemistry student. Tutoring. In chemistry.’

Amilyn’s eyebrows climb higher and Leia sits up straighter, craning her neck to look at him properly. It doesn’t feel like a lie, not exactly. But it doesn’t feel entirely like the truth either.

She considers digging into it further, then changes her mind. Another time. There are other things she wants to talk about tonight.

‘Come here,’ she says, patting the sofa.

He does as he’s told, obediently plonking himself down beside her.

‘I want to have a party, Ben, for your birthday. Just a little one, nothing major — just us.’

‘Mom—’

She holds up a hand. ‘I know, I know. You don’t like fuss, you don’t like parties. But this isn’t for you, not really. It’s for me. I want us all to have a nice night together. Just in case I—’ she breaks off, seeing his face, and changes the end of the sentence to, ‘don’t feel up to it for a while.’

He’s silent for a moment, then rests his hand on her knee. It’s warm and heavy, and she presses it down with her own.

‘Sure, Mom. We can do that. It’ll be nice.’

‘It will,’ she says, smiling. And then can’t resist adding, ‘If there’s anyone you want to bring… a friend, someone from work… a student…’ She leans a little heavy on that word, and smiles wider when a muscle in his cheek jumps.

‘No, Mom,’ he says stiffly. ‘Thanks. But no. There’s no one.’

‘Okay dear,’ she says, with a final pat on his hand. ‘But it’s fine if you change your mind. Just so you know.’

Amilyn huffs out a little snort as he leaves, and settles herself back against Leia’s shoulder. ‘Student my _ass_.’

 


	3. A Limited-Time Deal

Ben really, _really_ doesn’t like parties. Especially ones where he keeps getting bright red helium _30th Birthday!_ balloons floating in his face.

‘Thirty. Wow,’ Poe Dameron says, batting one out of the way and clapping him on the shoulder. He has to reach up quite a long way to do it, which gives Ben a small but warm moment of satisfaction, but that doesn’t make up for the sense that the _Wow_ comes from Poe having run through a mental list of all the things he’d done by the age of thirty than Ben undoubtedly hasn’t. A _long_ list.

‘Yeah,’ Ben says, not sure what other kind of response to give. ‘Thanks,’ doesn’t really feel appropriate; it’s not like getting older is an achievement.

So he’s relieved, for once, when talk inevitably gets round to Luke and Poe’s work. For about twenty seconds anyway, until her remembers he could technically be considered part of that work now. He shifts uncomfortably, until Han gives him eyebrows and asks if he needs to go to the toilet.

After that he just sits still and tries to blend into the background.

‘So yeah,’ Poe is saying. ‘This new stuff we’re seeing?’ He whistles. ‘It’s seriously top grade. Not the kind of purity that usually hits the street.’

Luke nods, running a hand through his greying hair. ‘We think there’s a new player in town,’ he says.

Ben shifts again, then catches Han’s eye and stills.

Poe shoots him a grin. ‘Hey, it’s okay. No need to panic. We’ll get ’em. We always do, right?’

‘Right,’ Ben says. It comes out kind of croaky.

‘So, Ben. When are you going to be bringing a date home?’ Han says, and Ben has never been so grateful to be embarrassed in all his life.

‘I don’t get time for dating,’ he says. Which is practically true now, given that he effectively has two jobs, although he really doesn’t want to be thinking about that second job right now. Or dating, come to that. In fact, he’d prefer not to be thinking about anything at all. Thinking is, honestly, what gets him into most of his trouble. 

‘Nobody _gets_ time for anything, Ben,’ his mother says. ‘You _make_ it. If you want to find someone, you have to put in the effort.’

‘I don’t need to find anyone,’ Ben says automatically.

Amilyn gives him her most viciously innocent smile. ‘Oh? Is that because you already have?’

‘What? No? What?’

She holds up her hands, palms out. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. It was just the way you said it… and when you came home late the other night… I, we thought…’

‘He came home late?’ Han says, sounding unreasonably proud. ‘Finally!’

‘I was… tutoring…’ Ben says, but it sounds feeble even to his own ears.

‘Oh, _tutoring_.’ Han guffaws. ‘Right. Yeah, we had some late nights _tutoring_ in our time too, didn’t we?’

‘Han,’ Leia says, taking a swipe at him. But she’s smiling. So’s Amilyn.

Ben cringes. He’s honestly not sure what’s worse, sitting here listing to them discuss his unfortunately imaginary romantic activities, or his unfortunately real criminal ones.

His mobile chooses that moment to chirp, which could have been a useful distraction but, since he _never_ gets messages, it just inflames the whole thing one level higher.

Han leans closer. ‘Is that her? Him? Them?’

‘No,’ Ben snaps, then turns his phone over to see _Rey_ flash up. He slaps it face down again and makes a mental note to change her name in his contacts to AT&T or something.

‘Rey,’ Amilyn breathes, as if she’s invoking the name of a god.

‘Rey?’ Han and Luke say together. A slight frown creases both of their brows.

‘This,’ Ben starts. ‘She… I don’t… it’s not…’

He pauses, realises he has absolutely no idea how to make a proper sentence out of that jumble, and gives it up in favour of what he hopes is a dignified exit.

It’s possible that hope is misplaced.

*

Rey really, _really_ doesn’t like Unkar Plutt. The fat, fish-faced bastard is trying to rip her off and she is _done_ with taking any of his shit.

‘Do you not see this?’ she demands, dangling the baggie in front of his face. ‘Do you not hear what people are telling you about it? Do you not understand the value of the deal I am offering you right now? No. Clearly you don’t, or you wouldn’t be trying to stiff me like I’m some idiot who doesn’t know what kind of a goldmine she’s sitting on. So maybe I need to explain it all again.’

He scowls and flicks a hand at her, which she knows is the closest he is physically able to come to an apology. ‘Okay. Twelve.’

‘ _Fifteen_ ,’ she says, for the tenth time at least. She knows what this shit is worth, and she’s not budging.

Unkar lets out a long, put-upon sigh. His breath is rank. ‘Fifteen. But only if you deliver now. By midnight.’

Rey does some calculations. Mr Solo’s place isn’t far. No reason that shouldn’t be doable. ‘Deal.’

They shake on it, which is an experience Rey could have lived without, and she heads back to her car to text him.

_Got an offer_ , she sends, then wonders: is there any chance he is _so_ tragically uncool that his mom would read his texts? Best not to take the chance. _For those chemistry textbooks_ , she adds. _Meet up? Now?_

The reply comes in just after she starts the car. _Not now._

Rey hisses between her teeth. Man does not have his head in the world of fast moving commerce. _Yes_ _now,_ she sends back. _This is a limited time deal. I’m on the way. Be ready._

This time the reply comes immediately. _NO YOU CANNOT COME HERE NO_

She throws the phone onto the passenger seat. ‘Watch me,’ she murmurs, and guns the engine.

*

She comes to the house. Of course she does. Because one way or another, this thing is clearly going to be the death of him.

Ben drops the curtain back into place when he sees that hideous car pull up across the street. Luke and Poe had an early shift, thankfully, and now Amilyn, Leia, and Han are playing Twister in the living room. The giggle level has been steadily rising and he can only cross his fingers that it covers the sound of him easing the door open.

‘What the hell?’ he says, trying to head her off at the sidewalk. ‘I told you not to come. This is not a good time.’

She’s completely unmoved by his alarm. ‘And I told you this was a time sensitive offer. Look, Mr Solo, you wanted me for my knowledge of the business, right? So listen to me when I tell you what has to happen. We’ve got a good offer on the table and—’

‘Rey? Rey Niima? Is that you?’

Ben freezes. Apparently Twister wasn’t as captivating as he’d hoped.

‘Han!’ After a split-second rabbit-in-the-headlights stare, Rey breaks out into a big smile. ‘Good to see you!’ She thumps Ben on the arm. ‘Your old man saved my ass, you know? I don’t know what I’d’ve done without him.’

‘Gone to jail,’ Han says, then breaks into a huge smile of his own. ‘So. You’re my son’s mystery girlfriend, huh?’

This time, Ben and Rey _both_ do rabbit-in-the-headlights.

She recovers first. ‘Yeah. Me and him, who’d’ve thunk it, right?’ She grabs the arm she’d just whacked — which is still kind of numb; she’s a lot stronger than she looks — and wraps it around her shoulders.

She looks at Ben expectantly, so he dredges up a smile. ‘Surprise! But, you know, we’re both kind of private people so—’

‘Pfft,’ Han says. ‘Not in this family, you’re not. Rey, come on in. Meet the gang.’

‘Yeah,’ she says slowly, taking a step back. ‘That’d be great, obviously. I’d love to. But—’

‘Nope, no buts. This is Ben’s birthday, and you’re going to celebrate it with us. No arguments. So come on, let’s go and have a drink. Or should I bring the others out here?’ He turns back towards the house. ‘Leia! Ami—’

‘No, no,’ Ben says. ‘We’ll go in, that’s fine.’

Rey pulls his arm closer, shooting a surreptitious glance at his watch. ‘Okay, sure. One drink. We can do that.’

‘That’s my girl,’ Han says, ushering her inside.

Ben closes his eyes, offering a prayer to whatever gods might look after the affairs of fools and drug dealers, then follows.

The squeak from Amilyn, when she sees Rey, is so high-pitched that it’s probably audible only to dogs. ‘Oh my god,’ she says. ‘Come, sit. Let me look at you.’

Rey submits with admirable fortitude, allowing Amilyn to exclaim over her hair and how adorable it would look in buns or braids.

‘Oh lord, I’m so sorry,’ she suddenly says. ‘Where are my manners? I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Amilyn Holdo, and I’m good friends with Ben’s mom and dad.’

‘I know,’ Rey says, with a casual shrug. ‘He told me.’

Amilyn blinks. ‘He did?’ she says, then exchanges glances with Leia and Han that feel way too significant for Ben’s comfort.

Han pours them all a drink and they raise a glass to his birthday. Rey coughs when she swallows, but keeps a valiant smile on her face as they toast her too. And then Leia. It’s the _good_ Scotch Han’s freely pouring, Ben notices — which, given that he clearly knows at least something about who Rey really is, gives him pause. Is his father _that_ desperate for him to date?

And then he cringes, because not only is that a shitty thought, it’s inaccurate; he doesn’t have the moral high ground, here. He isn’t a better person than Rey. If anything, she’s the one lowering herself by dating him. And Jesus Christ, what is he thinking? She _isn’t_ dating him. She’s just going along with this charade because she’s trying to save his sorry ass. She wouldn’t be spending any time with him whatsoever, if he hadn’t effectively blackmailed her into it. And she’s only here right now because _— shit! —_ she needs to pick up the product.

He gently moves Rey’s hand off his thigh — it might be under duress but she’s throwing herself into the role, he’s got to give her that — and stands up. ‘Won’t be long,’ he murmurs, and slips out of the room.

He kept the sandwich bag full of meth, as she suggested, under his bed. He snatches it up, sneaks downstairs and opens the front door, hoping Rey will prove to be a better distraction than Twister.

Thankfully, he’s right; if anyone hears the door this time, they don’t come to investigate.

Her ridiculous car is parked across the street. The passenger side window, as he noticed before, doesn’t roll up all the way and he manages to squeeze the bag through the gap. It falls on the seat and he leans his forehead against the glass, his heart hammering.

One of his birthday balloons has made a break for freedom through the open door, and he watches it float away above the rooftops.

‘Thirty,’ he mutters under his breath. ‘I am _way_ too old for this.’

*

Rey’s holding her glass out for a refill when Mr Solo comes back. He pulls her close and presses his lips to the side of her neck, causing her heart to practically shut down. His breath is warm and fluttery on her skin as he moves his mouth up to her ear, and then he whispers, ‘It’s in your car. The delivery. I dropped it in your car.’

Her heart, which had just about started beating again, judders to a halt once more.

Fuck. The delivery. Unkar Plutt. _Fuck_.

She struggles upright, fighting the cozy embrace of the puffy, overstuffed sofa. Good job, Rey. Somehow, she’s managed to drop into the role of _Ben’s girlfriend_ so comfortably that she almost forgot why she’s really there.

It’s just been so… nice? Is that the word she wants? It’s not one she often uses to describe things in her life so she’s not entirely sure, but yeah, maybe it’s been _nice_ , sitting here next to Mr Solo, snuggled against his sturdy, heat-radiating frame as if she belongs there, with him aiming occasional cute, nervously affectionate smiles at her, usually when he thinks she’s not looking — which makes sense, given that they’re supposed to be a fairly new couple. He’s been keeping up their cover pretty well.

‘Okay, honey?’ Amilyn says, and Rey nods. She can totally see why Han and Leia both love her; she’s beautiful, yes, but that’s not all of it; she’s sweet and friendly, yet also composed and elegant, and… is the word Rey’s searching for _stately_? She thinks it might be. Amilyn Holdo looks like someone who knows how to get shit done, and Rey admires that. She’d bet at least half the value of the meth in her car that Amilyn is the one who initiated the threeway, sorry, the _throuple,_ relationship. She can see it now: _I like you,_ Amilyn would have said. _You like me. What else matters?_

What else indeed? And what are Rey’s changes of being Amilyn Holdo when she grows up? She smiles at them all, feeling it turn a little goofy, then frowns at the dregs of amber liquid in her glass. How strong is this stuff, exactly?

‘Would you like to stay here tonight, Rey?’ Leia asks. Leia, too, is lovely. And stately. She and Amilyn should be Admirals, or Generals; desperately important people holding the fates of galaxies in their hands.

‘Yeah,’ Han says. ‘That might be best, huh?’ He gives her that crooked grin of his. ‘We’re not overly worried about the _proprieties_ , or whatever. You might have guessed that.’

Rey meets his grin. Han is lovely too, in that same grizzled, chiselled, _been there, done that, got the t-shirt_ , worldly kind of way. Is it any wonder Ben is so gorgeous, with all this loveliness in his genes?

And that thought, coupled with the realisation of how much he’s stiffened beside her, brings her up short like a slap of cold water in the face. Because he’s not _Ben_ , not in the real world. He’s Mr Solo, her business partner, and he’s already held up his end of the bargain. Now it’s her turn.

‘Ah,’ she says. ‘Yeah. That would be great, but… no, I’d better go. It’s, you know…’ she trails off and nods firmly, hoping that will take the place of an actual answer.

‘Yes,’ Mr Solo says, also nodding. He smiles at her again, but now it’s _much_ more nervous than affectionate. ‘It is. So, yeah.’ He jumps up. ‘I’ll see you to your car.’

‘Uh,’ Leia says, but they’re already at the door. ‘Bye, then,’ her voice calls after them. ‘It was lovely to meet you, Rey.’

‘God, I’m sorry,’ she says, as she slides into the car. ‘It was an emergency situation and I didn’t have a lot of room to manoeuvre, but it won’t happen again. I’ll have more leverage with Plutt in future.’

‘In future…’ Mr Solo says. Then he shakes his head. ‘No. I don’t think we should do this anymore.’

‘Look, I’ve already said, I won’t have to come here again. You can tell them I dumped you and they’ll never have to see me again.’

He looks a little indignant, and for a second she thinks he’s going to argue the who-dumped-who scenario, but common sense clearly reasserts itself and he lets it go.

‘No, Rey, that’s not it. That’s not it at all. But… you, me, this… well, not _this_ , this is… well, it’s… but…’

This is just random words, now. ‘You’re not making any sense,’ she says. ‘What’s the problem? I don’t get it.’

He takes a deep breath. ‘My uncle — Luke — he’s in the DEA. He was here, earlier, him and his partner. You only just missed running into them. I can’t… it’s not right, to put you in that kind of position. That kind of danger. I—’

She stares at him. ‘Are you seriously trying to White Knight me right now? Is that what this is?’

‘What? I don’t—’

‘You think I don’t know who Luke Fucking Skywalker is? What the hell do you take me for? Do I really seem like that much of an idiot to you?’

‘No, no, that’s not—’

‘I’m not stupid, Mr Solo. And I’m not a kid. I don’t need you or anyone else to look after me. I can take care of myself. Always have, always will.’

‘I know, but—’

Rey shoves the key in the ignition. She’s done with this conversation. She’s done with this whole fucking thing. ‘You know what? Fine. You want out, that’s okay with me. I’ll see Unkar, get you your cut, and that’ll be the end of it. You won’t have to worry about me, or my _danger_ anymore.’

He looks wretched. ‘Rey—’

‘No. You’re right. This is for the best.’ It is, she sees that now. All this — this house, this family —it’s not for her. It’s not a story she has any place in.

She slams the door shut and starts the car.

When she glances in the rearview, it looks like Mr Solo’s lips are moving. But if he says anything other than ‘Goodbye,’ the roar of the engine drowns it out.

 


	4. The Legend of Kylo Ren

Well. That hit a nerve, obviously.

Ben feels like a piece of shit for upsetting her, because that’s the last thing he wanted to do, but…they have to stop. It _is_ for the best.

She doesn’t need him to protect her, no. He gets that. She might just be the fiercest, most fearless person he’s ever known, and the idea of him being some sort of White Knight for her is laughable; it’s far more likely to be the other way round.

But she got that wrong; it’s not that he wants to be a saviour, it’s just that he _doesn’t_ want to be a liability. And he will be, if this carries on.

Because who is he trying to kid? This isn’t him. He’s not fierce, or fearless, or street smart, or cool under pressure, or perceptive, or resourceful, or… any of the things you need to be to make something like this work. Any of the things Rey is. She’s got what it takes. He doesn’t. It’s that simple.

And if he tried to keep up the charade, tried to keep pretending she was his girlfriend, they’d see through it in an instant. Well, maybe not his mother, or Amilyn, since they’re biased in his favour. Maybe even his father might give him the benefit of the doubt; Han did punch above his own weight, after all. Uncle Luke would have questions, though, and Poe Dameron? He’s not going to buy it for a second. No way he believes that Ben can just snap his fingers one day and turn up with a girl like Rey on his arm.

So yes, this is for the best. It might not feel like it — it might feel like he’s just watched the best thing in his life screech down the road at sixty miles an hour and disappear in a literal puff of filthy, foul-smelling smoke, and Leia’s face when her goes back inside and offers a casual _No, I don’t think we’ll be seeing each other again_ might feel like it breaks what’s left of his heart — but it is.

And Rey might be angry now, but she’s smart; it won’t take her long to see that. She probably worked it out before she even turned the corner, and by the time she gets home she’ll be ready to celebrate her good fortune — ready to tell her friends all about the lucky escape she just had.

And she’ll know —if she thinks about him at all— that he did the right thing. The smart thing. She won’t be angry with him anymore.

At least he can take some comfort in that.

*

Fuck him. _Fuck_ him. No wonder he looks like one of those statues of Greek gods, with abs carved out of marble — he’s got the same amount of fucking intelligence as a statue as well. Rey thought Leia seemed like she would have been a good mother, but no; clearly, she must have dropped that giant fucking moron on his head so many times that the few brain cells he was born with got scrambled beyond any hope of actual use. She can’t believe what an asshole he is. What an idiotic, imbecilic, world-class fucking _asshole_.

‘Yeah. So you said.’ Rose yawns and picks off a piece of her nail polish. ‘Many, many times.’

Rey forces her hands to unclench, leaving ragged half-moon indentations in her palms. Her own nails are bitten to the quick.

She pushes out of the RV — which she is totally fucking keeping for herself now, fuck him — and screams her frustration into the desert. Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him. _Fuck_ him.

With one final inarticulate yell, she forces herself to breathe, to calm down. It’s fine. She’s got this. She watched what he did when they cooked. She can do it. If he wants to leave her — leave the _money_ —behind, that’s fine. That’s his business. Asshole can do what he likes.

Fuck him.

She goes back inside to see Rose in the driver’s seat, one booted foot up on the dash and a pipe in her hand.

Rey glares are her, hands on hips. ‘What the hell, Rose?’

‘What? Come on, Rey, I helped you cook. I can’t have a taste?’ She inhales deeply, her eyes closing. ‘This shit is _primo_.’

Rey clenches her fists again, hard enough to draw blood. She doesn’t smoke herself — doesn’t _partake_ , as He Who Shall Not Be Fucking Named put it — because this is business, and every ounce you smoke is one you can’t sell, but she’s never been bothered about people who do. Life’a a bitch and then you die, and in the meantime you do whatever gets you through. And it’s true; Rose helped, so this batch is partly hers. If she wants to smoke some of her share, that’s _her_ business.

Rose Tico is good people; she and Skinny Finn are probably the closest Rey’s got to friends. And it’s not like Rose doesn’t know what she’s doing; they’ve cooked together before, and it’s been fine. There’s no reason they shouldn’t make good partners. Great partners. _Better_ partners.

But.

Whatever Rose might think, Rey knows the shit they just made isn’t _primo_. Rose is good. Efficient. Methodical. But she isn’t an _artist._

Rey drops into the passenger seat, sighing heavily.

She isn’t _him_.

*

Deja vu: another sterile medical office, another sterile medical professional. But this time, what hits him in the chest and knocks all the air out of his lungs isn’t _cancer_. It’s _ninety thousand dollars_.

Leia carries on listening politely as the consultant outlines the programme of radiation and chemotherapy he has in mind. Han and Amilyn look at each other, and Ben knows what they’re thinking.

They haven’t got it. Nowhere near. Amilyn and Leia have small savings accounts. Ben has a larger one — he’s never exactly lived the high life — but his father never has anything spare. Even counting his share of the deal with Plutt, it won’t come close.

‘When would you like to start treatment?’ the sterile medical receptionist asks. ‘We have a slot next week?’

‘Thank you, we’ll take it,’ Han says, rifling through a fat wallet stuffed with credit cards and finally handing one over. He’s clearly holding his breath while the receptionist processes the deposit, but when he gets it back, it’s with a smile and a receipt.

‘We’ll find the rest,’ he says, before Leia can say anything.

Amilyn reaches out and takes Leia’s hands in hers. ‘We will,’ she says. ‘Financing… instalment plans… I can borrow against my pension… we have options. It’s going to be okay, Leia. We’ll do whatever we need to do.’

Ben doesn’t trust his voice, so he just places his own hands over theirs and nods.

Because Amilyn, as usual, is right. They will. _He_ will.

Leia returns his squeeze and for a moment they all stand in silence. Eventually, he pulls his hands away. ‘I’ll meet you at home, okay? There’s something I need to do first.’

Leia looks up at him and smiles gently. ‘Is it going to see that lovely girl and making up with her? That would make me very happy, Ben, and I know it would you, too. Please tell me that’s what it is.’

Ben returns the smile. ‘Yes. That’s exactly what it is.’

*

‘Hell, no,’ Rey says. ‘Absolutely fucking no way, not in this life or any other. And, just in case I haven’t made myself _totally_ clear, fuck you. Now get the fuck off my property.’

He looks up at the house. ‘I thought this was a squat?’

Rey gapes. Is he fucking kidding her right now? ‘Oh, _double_ fuck you. Fuck you to the tenth power of fucking _infinity_ , Mr Solo.’

He holds his hands up. ‘All right, all right. That was… I’m sorry, Rey. I’m sorry. For all of it. But I… I need you. Your help. I need your help.’

_Fuck_. Rey runs a hand through her hair as her anger subsides. How’s she supposed to stay mad at him when he’s just _looking_ at her like that? With those _eyes_? And that _I need you_ is still thrilling through her veins too, even though she’s trying hard to slow it down. Because she knows what it is he really needs.

She sighs. ‘How much is it? Your mom’s treatment.’

He looks down. ‘Ninety thousand. At least. Maybe more.’

Rey whistles through her teeth. ‘Fuck. That _is_ a lot. Okay, let me think. Plutt’s not good for that kind of cash, but there’ll be people above him. Next level people. That’s who we need to talk to. All right.’ She nods. ‘Skinny Finn did time with some dude who was in with a big crew. He’ll know some names.’

‘Then… you’ll do it?’ He looks at her through his eyelashes, his head still lowered. He heart squeezes painfully. ‘You’ll cook with me again?’

‘Fuck you, you fucking fuck,’ she says, giving in to the urge to punch him. It connects with his shoulder rather than his asshole face, but he still flinches. She’ll take that. ‘Of course I fucking will. _Now_ you can get the fuck off my property.’

He still doesn’t look entirely inclined to obey, so she adds, ‘Before that shitty car of yours gets stripped for parts. Probably worth more that way, but you’d be walking home.’

That does the trick. Which is probably good, since she really wasn’t joking.

Leaving him heading back towards the street, she goes back upstairs and rousts Skinny Finn from the trance he’s fallen into while watching that weird British baking show.

‘Oh, yeah,’ he says, when she’s explained what she needs. ‘Mitaka. We were in lockup together at Canto Bight.’

‘You still connected?’

‘Yeah, kinda.We talk.’

‘Good. Can you get me a meet with his boss? I’ve got a business proposition for him.’

Skinny Finn scrunches up his nose. ‘Hux? You want to do business with Hux?’

‘If that’s his name, yes.’

‘You sure? Hux, yo. He’s a badass. Makes Plutt look cuddly.’

Rey puts her shoulders back. ‘I don’t want to cuddle, I want to do business. And anyway, _I’m_ a badass.’

He grins and throws a bit of stale popcorn at her. ‘I know that, killer. But Hux doesn’t. And you’ve got to admit you don’t look it.’

‘Then tell him. And tell him I’ve got a partner, too. And he _does_ look it. He’s like a freaking man-mountain. Like…’ she holds her hands out, trying to get across a sense of the size, the proportions, the sheer hugeness, the hard muscular frame, the…

‘Whoa,’ Skinny says, outright laughing now. ‘You got a little drool there, peanut. He sounds impressive, sure, this… what did you say? Ben?’

Rey blinks. Did _she_ just go into some kind of trance? Fuck. Mr Solo is not going to thank her for putting his name into circulation.

‘Ren,’ she says quickly. In the corner, the fuzzy TV is now showing an old episode of _South Park_. Kyle Broflovski is having a meltdown about the Tooth Fairy not being real. ‘Kyle, uh, Ren.’

Skinny Finn yawns. ‘Kylo Ren, got it. You and your big bad partner have got a deal for Hux. I’ll get the word out for you. But after that, you’re on your own.’

Rey claps him on the shoulder. ‘Just how we like it.’

*

Skinny Finn stretches out on the sofa, his pipe in one hand, the TV remote in the other, and his cell tucked under his chin. He channel surfs while he trash talks Teedo, stopping when he sees a spray of blood. _Texas Chainsaw Massacre._ Sweet.

‘Yeah, bro, I mean, you know Rey, she’s vicious. But this guy? Whoo! You do _not_ want to tangle. Seven foot tall, built like a yeti, wears this creepy leather mask… huh? How should _I_ know? Because he’s fuck ugly, I suppose. Like, all scarred up or something. Yeah. Exactly. And I heard, right, that some guy dissed him — like, didn’t get him a beer or whatever—’ He waggles his eyebrows hopefully at Rose on the word _beer_ , but all she gives him is the finger — ‘and so Kylo just hoists him up with his bare hands and chokes the shit out of him. I mean, literally. You know that happens, right, when you get strangled? It’s a fucking _mess_ , I’m telling you. So then he chops up the body, and — huh? With a chainsaw, man, obviously. Yes, he keeps a goddamn chainsaw in his car! Of course he does. Are you not hearing me? This guy does not fuck about, yo.’

Rose grabs the remote out of his hand and changes channels. He starts to protest, then sees she’s switched it to _Friday the Thirteenth_ , and he relaxes. Jason Voorhees and his huge-ass machete. That’ll do.

‘Catch you later,’ he tells Teedo, and goes to the next name on his contact list. He’s got plenty more calls to make.

*

‘I’m out,’ Plutt says, glancing around the alley nervously. ‘I can’t do this no more.’

Poe leans against the wall. ‘What’s the matter, Unkar? What’s got you all spooked?’

‘Spooked? You’d be fucking _spooked_ , man, you had the Snitch Killer on your ass.’

‘If I had the who on my what now?’

‘Kylo fucking Ren! The Snitch Killer!’ Plutt leans in closer and drops his voice. ‘Dude’s got a fucking _temper_ , man. Word is, he got caught in a freak chainsaw accident when he was a kid, and totally lost his shit. Now anyone pisses him off, he carves them up — guts them with a fucking machete, chops up what’s left with the chainsaw, and then for all I know he fucking _eats_ it. And you know who pisses him off most? Fucking snitches, man. So I ain’t taking no chances with this psycho. I am _out_.’

‘Out of the snitching business?’

‘Out of the whole fucking thing. I’m retiring, man. I’m done. Gonna buy a nice junkyard and settle down.’ He backs away, shaking his head. ‘Good fucking luck,’ he says, and then he’s gone.

‘So,’ Luke says, when Poe turns in his report. ‘You think this is our new player? This Kylo Ren?’

Poe shrugs. ‘First the Grade-A crystal, then the Grade-A psycho? Yeah. Bit of a coincidence otherwise, wouldn’t you say?

‘I would, yes.’ Luke sighs. ‘Okay. Get everyone in, and I’ll prepare a briefing. I’m thinking Jakku might just have a new crime kingpin.’

*

‘Thanks, Mom,’ Ben says, taking a cupcake from the box she’s holding out. This one has marginally fewer rainbow-coloured sprinkles than the others.

‘Keep that out of the foot bath,’ the pedicurist says, with the resigned air of someone for whom snacking clients are an occupational hazard.

Ben nods, doing his best to keep both sprinkles and crumbs from dropping into the whirling, citrus-scented water. It’s easier said than done.

Leia sighs contentedly. ‘Isn’t this nice?’

Ben nods again, around a mouthful of sponge. It’s not how he would normally choose to spend a Saturday afternoon, but yeah. It is.

His father, in the chair on the other side of him, makes a noise that’s half snort and half splutter. ‘I feel like a horse getting shod,’ he mutters, as the man doing his feet wrestles with a pair of toenail clippers. ‘I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.’

‘Because I have cancer,’ Leia says, smiling sweetly. ‘Which means you’re going to let me talk you into doing absolutely anything I want for the foreseeable future.’

Han looks like he’s thinking about protesting, or at least grumbling, but in the end just sinks down further into his chair.

‘And speaking of which…’ Leia goes on. ‘Ben?’

He swallows the last bite of his cupcake. ‘Yes, Mom. I spoke to Rey. We’re… going to be spending time together again.’

‘Good,’ she says, with another contented sigh, and closes her eyes. After a few seconds she’s snoring in perfect harmony with Amilyn, who’s crashed out in the colorist’s chair, getting her her hair tinted purple.

Ben angles himself a little more towards Han. ‘So, Dad. You, uh, you knew her? Rey?’

‘Assault,’ Han says.

‘What?’

‘Assault. What she was picked up for. That’s what you were trying to finesse your way around to asking, wasn’t it?’

Ben flushes a little. It was, of course. He’d been expecting to simply get, ‘You need to ask her that yourself,’ but clearly should have realised Han would consider client confidentiality — like so many other aspects of the law — as a guideline rather than a rule.

‘She was working at the Mos Eisley Cantina,’ he says. ‘Which she shouldn’t have been doing since she was underage, a fact that nicely contributed to the eventual decision to withdraw the complaint. The guy who owns the place, this lowlife weasel called Peavey, put his hands on her — so she broke them. Slammed them in the chest freezer where they keep the burgers.’ He splays his own hands out. ‘There’s twenty-seven bones in the human hand, did you know that? I’m pretty sure she got at least half of them.’

He grins. ‘So there’s your lesson, son. Don’t touch that girl unless she says you can.’

‘Noted,’ Ben says faintly. ‘And on that subject, I’d better go. She couldn’t come down here because she had some shopping to do, but I’m meeting her afterwards.’

Han tips some more lemon foam bath over his feet, then settles back down and closes his eyes too. ‘Okay, see you later. You have fun now.’

‘Mm,’ Ben says, more in hope than expectation. ‘I’m sure I will.’

*

Half an hour later he’s standing in the tiny bathroom in Rey’s squat, in nothing but his boxer shorts, staring open-mouthed into the plastic bag she’s just given him.

‘Excuse me,’ he yells through the door. ‘I’m sorry. But you want me to wear this… this _fetish gear_? In public? Where people can see me?’

Rey’s rolling her eyes. He doesn’t know how he can tell that from her tone of voice, but he can. ‘It’s just leather, Mr Solo. I thought leather pants were all the thing, back in your day? And yes, we need people to see you. That’s the _point_. It’s your legend. The legend of Kylo Ren.’

‘Wait, what do you mean, my day? Leather pants haven’t been a _thing_ since the seventies.’

‘So?’

‘So how old do you think I am?’ He can hear his voice climbing into an undignified squeak. ‘Jesus Christ, Rey, I wasn’t even born until 1988. And look, while we’re on the subject, can you just stop with the _Mr Solo_ please? I’m not your teacher anymore. It’s starting to freak me out.’

It’s far and away not the _only_ thing that’s freaking him out, obviously, but it’ll be a start.

There’s a little silence, then: ‘Fine. Ben. Whatever. Are you dressed yet?’

Oh, God. ‘And the mask?’ he asks, plaintively. ‘Really?’

‘Really,’ she says. ‘It’s part of the—’

‘Legend, yes. Fine. I get it.’

Ben pulls on the final item, the absolute piece de resistance: a shiny, form-fitting mask covered in little zips and buckles.

‘ _That_ might actually be fetish gear,’ Rey admits. ‘There aren’t too many places you can buy that sort of thing, other than sex shops.’

Ben groans. It comes out muffled, and he adjusts some of the zips. His hair is getting caught in the one at the back.

‘Hey, don’t blame me,’ Rey says. ‘This is all on Rose and Skinny Finn. They watch way too many dodgy late night films when they’re high.’

Ben flips up his hood, and now he’s as dressed as he can get. With a last horrified glance at the mirror, he opens the door and steps out.

‘ _Finally_ ,’ Rey says. ‘Okay, we—’

She breaks off, and now it’s her turn to open her mouth and stare. And stare. And stare.

Ben closes his eyes and growls low in his throat. ‘I am going to _kill_ Skinny Finn,’ he says.

‘Yes!’ Rey yells, jumping up and down and punching the air. ‘Oh my God, yes! That’s it, just like that! Your Kylo Ren is a _monster_ , Mr Solo. It’s perfect!’ She gives him a radiant grin. ‘Come on, what are we waiting for? Let’s go and hand Armitage Hux his ass.’

 


	5. Sexy Security Guard

Hux checks out his guests on the Cantina’s CCTV, then gives Mitaka a nod. ‘Okay. You can go and get them.’

But instead of doing what he’s told, Mitaka just shifts from foot to foot. ‘Sorry, boss. Bringing them here is as far as I go. I’m not sitting in.’

Hux’s eyes narrow. ‘And why would that be?’

Mitaka shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at the floor. ‘Kylo fucking Ren, man. I don’t wanna be in the fucking same zip code as that guy, let alone the same room. Not after what happened to Unkar.’

‘Unkar Plutt?’ Hux frowns. ‘I heard he retired.’

Mitaka snorts. ‘Retired, yeah. That’s what Ren wants the cops to think. But Unkar wasn’t no quitter. If he ain’t dealing, he’s dead. And the last deal he made was with Kylo fucking Ren.’ He glances nervously at the screen on the wall. ‘You know what happened? I heard it from Skinny Finn, and he’s _in_ with Ren, so he knows.’ He swallows, throat clicking audibly. ‘Ren chopped him up, liquidised his body into a slushie and fucking drank it. That’s what happened. Because Unkar didn’t give him the deal he wanted.’

Hux leans back in his chair. That’s revolting, but… kind of impressive. A remarkably environmentally friendly method of body disposal.

‘Fine. Go.’ He waves Mitaka away. ‘Peavey, you do it. Pat them down and bring them in.’

But Peavey’s _also_ doing the foot-shuffling, head-hanging thing. ‘What now?’ Hux says. ‘Are you having nightmares about slushies as well?’

‘No, boss. But that’s Rey Niima out there with him. No way I’m putting my hands anywhere near her again.’ Peavey holds up his hand, showing a shiny white scar looped around the wrist. ‘She nearly took this goddamn thing right off. They barely got it sewed back on, at the hospital.’

Hux pinches the bridge of his nose. Is there anyone in his whole organisation that isn’t having a fit of the screaming meemies about these two?

‘Fine,’ he snaps. ‘ _I’ll_ get them.’

Peavey escapes out the back while Hux throws open the office door. ‘Niima? Ren? Let’s talk.’

And talk Niima does, launching straight into a full-on sales pitch. Not that she really needs the hard sell; their meth really is that good. He’s never seen demand like it.

The partner just sits in silence, but Hux has to admit it’s a very _effective_ silence. A silence that says, _I’m watching you._ And possibly, _I’m wondering what you’d taste like._

Hux gives a little shiver and cuts the girl off in the middle of her spiel. ‘I’ll take two pounds. Forty thousand a pound.’

The girl looks a little taken aback, and Ren stands up before she has a chance to respond. Hux has to tilt a long way back in his chair to lift his gaze up the man’s body to his face. Or mask, rather.

It takes some time; there’s a _large_ expanse of leather to look at. Hux wets his lips.

There’s an expectant kind of silence, and he realises Ren must have said something. ‘What?’ he snaps, putting some attitude into it and hoping that makes it sound more like _I don’t believe what I just heard_ rather than _I zoned out and completely missed it._

‘Four,’ Ren says. ‘You’ll take four pounds.’

His voice is low and surprisingly soft. Surprisingly… silky.

Hux gives another little shiver and hears himself saying, ‘Yes. I’ll take four pounds.’

Niima makes a little squeaking noise, her head turning from Hux to Ren and back again.

‘I’ll see you next week,’ Hux says, waving them out. He’s already looking forward to it.

*

Rey hustles Mr Solo out of the Cantina and back to the car. She quickly drives around the block, out of sight of Hux’s minions, and stops at a gas station.

He pulls the Kylo Ren mask off and chucks it on the back seat, then grins at her. He actually fucking _grins_ at her.

‘How about that?’ he says, and she has a vision of what he must have looked like as a second grader, running home to Leia with some shitty crayon picture to put on the fridge: all big soulful eyes and sweet, hopeful _did I do good?_ smile.

Rey has no doubt that Leia praised his shitty crayon pictures to the skies. She, however, is not that generous.

‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘How about that? You totally fucked us.’

He blinks, and that hopeful smile starts for fade. For a second she feels bad, but she quickly shoves that away. She’s not Leia. Most people aren’t, especially the kind of people he’s likely to be meeting from here on in. The sooner he understands that, the better.

‘What?’ he says, showing that he clearly has no idea what he’s just done. He hasn’t got single fucking clue.

She throws up her hands. ‘Seriously? You just told that dead-eyed ginger ass-clown that we would make him _four fucking pounds_ of meth. By _next week._ ’

He runs his hand through this hair, which is just starting to spring back from being flattened under the mask. She resists the urge to help. ‘Okay, so it’s going to take some more work. I get that. We’ll just have to put in some more hours and —’

‘No. No, you don’t get it. Because it’s not about hours, it’s about the fucking pseudo. How are we gonna get enough to make four pounds? It takes me and Rose a week, driving all the way out to fucking Takodana and back, to pick up enough to scrape half a pound. So _four?_ No way. Can’t be done. There aren’t that many boxes of sinus pills in the whole fucking state.’

His lips are pressed together and she can practically see the wheels in that big brain spinning. ‘Okay. Okay. If we can’t get pseudoephedrine then we won’t use it. We’ll make phenylacetone in a tube furnace, then we’ll use reductive amination to yield methamphetamine. We can easily get four pounds that way. It’ll work.’

‘It will?’

‘It will.’

It’s said with absolute confidence, and despite her misgivings, she can’t help starting to believe it. Believe _him_. Because chemistry might be the one and only thing he knows, but he _does_ know it.

‘Okay. All right. Maybe we get to walk away from this with our lives after all.’ She snorts. ‘Although I’m sure I’d have been the only one buried in the desert anyway. You’d have been okay.’

He frowns at her. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh, come on. You’re not that oblivious.’ She pauses. ‘Please tell me you’re not that oblivious.’ But, yeah, apparently he is.

Somehow, she’s not surprised.

‘What? Rey, what?’

‘Never mind.’ She shakes her head. ‘If you didn’t pick up on it, I’m not drawing you any pictures. Come on, let’s get out of here. I guess we’ve got some more shopping to do.’

She guesses right. After calling in a few favours, spending a ton of cash, and dropping the name _Kylo Ren_ a few times, they manage to scare up most of the items on the list. Unfortunately, the one they don’t find is apparently the most important: a gallon of something called methylamine. Rey’s not sure what it is, but she knows they don’t sell it in Home Depot.

‘I’m tapped out,’ she says. ‘I’ve talked to everybody I can think of and nobody can get hold of this stuff. There’s a chemical supply place down south that might have it, but they don’t exactly sell to the public. We’d have to, uh, _liberate_ it, but the place is locked down tight — steel doors, security, the works. So that’s it, I’m done. I don’t know who else to ask.’

Mr Solo — _Ben_ , fuck it; if the disaster with Hux proved anything, it’s that he is _not_ the goddamn adult in the room — looks thoughtful. ‘I might,’ he says.

Rey gives him skeptical. ‘You? You have the kind of contacts who can rip off a place like that?’

‘Not personally. But I think I might know a man who does.’

‘Ohhh.’ She grins. ‘Yeah. You need help, you better call Solo. Am I right?’

Of course she is. They head to the little strip mall that houses Han Solo’s office. His PA, Kaydel, shows them inside.

‘Hey, if it’s not my favourite young lovers,’ Han says, coming out from behind his big-ass desk. ‘After Brangelina, naturally.’

Rey grins and lets him pull her in for a hug. ‘I think they split up.’

‘They did? Nobody tells me the bad news around here. Well then, I guess you two got promoted.’ He purses his lips. ‘So what are you going to be? Bey? Beney? Benjey?’

‘Anyway, Dad,’ Ben says. ‘We don’t want to take up too much of your time, so…’

‘Sure, sure. Shoot, kiddo. What do you need?’

Okay, so.’ He coughs. ‘You know how I’ve started writing some short stories?’

Han’s bushy eyebrows shoot up. ‘No. I did not know that. Since when?’

‘Oh, not that long. It’s just a, you know, a hobby. And, so, I’m working on this story about a… well, a heist, I suppose you’d call it. The protagonistshave to break into this place, a warehouse, and steal something. And I was wondering if you knew anyone who might be able to give me some tips about how to go about it — how to avoid the guards and not get caught, how to get through a steel security door, that kind of thing. For, uh, verisimilitude.’

‘Verisimilitude,’ Han says. His eyebrows have yet to come back down.

‘Yes. Details. Accurate details. Especially about how not to get caught. For, uh, for the story.’

‘It’s a really good story,’ Rey offers. ‘You’d love it.’

Han perches on the edge of the desk and folds his arms. ‘Is it about plucky heroes fighting for justice against a brutal, inhuman regime of oppression?’

That sounds like a pretty good description of the American healthcare system to Rey. ‘Yep. That’s exactly what it’s about.’

‘Then I’m sure I would.’ He pulls out a drawer and removes a card, which he turns over in his hands. ‘This is who you want to speak to. A long-time associate of mine, Charles Backer. Chewie to his friends. And trust me, Chewie knows enough about heists to fill a dozen books. You want _verisimilitude_ , he’s your guy.’

Ben reaches for the card. Han holds it out, but doesn’t let go. ‘One question, Ben, before I put you in touch.’

‘Sure, yes, I’ll put your name in the acknowledgements when the story’s published.’

Han grins. ‘Thanks, but that’s not it. I just need to know…’ Hepauses for quite a while, then sighs. ‘Is this, whatever it is — and I definitely don’t need to know _that_ —for your mother?’

Ben goes very still. His gaze drops to the floor, but only for a second. Then: ‘Yes,’ he says, looking his father in the eye.

‘Okay, then.’ Han lets go. ‘Chewie’s number is on the back. Good luck. With the story, obviously. Hope it turns out well.’

Ben pockets the card. ‘Thanks. So do I.’

*

Rey stops the RV by the chain link fence at the side of the warehouse and kills the engine. The place is dark and looks deserted, except for one guard who trundles by every half an hour in a golf buggy thing. So far, so good.

‘This is a bad plan,’ Ben mutters. ‘This is a very bad plan.’

‘It’s a _great_ plan,’ Rey says. ‘You heard Chewie. It’s worked before, it’ll work now. Get ready.’

She throws the ski mask at him. He catches it, then stares at her. ‘What the hell is this?’

‘It’s your burglar costume. Put it on.’

‘It’s yellow. Bright yellow. And it has… are these unicorns? They are. It has _unicorns_ on it.’

‘They’re not unicorns. They’re dinosaurs.’

‘Dinosaurs. Of course. Well, that makes all the difference. I feel so much better now.’

‘It’s all they had left at the store. And you’re _supposed_ to look incompetent, remember? And noticeable. That’s the point. So just shut up and put it on.’

He grumbles, but does as he’s told. While he’s pulling the woollen mask over his head, Rey slips off her coat.

There’s a moment of silence, then: ‘Holy shit,’ he says. His eyes, the only part of his face that’s visible, are extremely wide. ‘What in the name of God are you wearing?’

Rey pulls down on the hem of her jacket, a bit self-consciously. ‘This is _my_ costume.’

When Rose said she had a security guard’s uniform she could borrow, Rey assumed it’d been obtained for similarpurposes and accepted without hesitation, glad not to have to spend any more money. But it turned out to be not so much a theft-related disguise as a Halloween costume: _Sexy_ Security Guard.

‘Shut up,’ she says, despite the face that Ben actually seems to be speechless for once. ‘You’ve got dinosaurs, I’ve got this. Deal with it.’

He swallows hard and murmurs something under his breath. It sounds like, ‘I’m going to jail for the rest of my life.’

‘Come on,’ she says. ‘Here comes the guard now.’

They sneak out of the RV and through the hole Rey cut in the fence, into the warehouse loading area.

‘Hey,’ Rey yells, waving at the guard’s buggy. ‘Hey. Need a little help here.’

He trundles over, trying to shield his eyes from the flashlight she’s shining in his face. ‘What’s going on?’

She runs the flashlight over Ben. ‘Caught this guy trying to break in. We’d better go inside and call it in.’

The guard stares at her captive, then at her. He frowns. ‘Aren’t you a little short for a security operative?’

_Operative_. Like he’s James Freaking Bond or something. Rey snorts, and turns it into a cough. ‘I work at the, er, hairdressing supplies place over there.’ Is there a hairdressing supplies place? There must be. There’s _always_ a hairdressing supplies place. ‘They have very diverse hiring policies,’ she adds, giving him the _Wanna make something of it?_ face she learned from Ben.

The guard — sorry, _operative_ — evidently decides that no, he doesn’t. He reaches for a radio clipped to his buggy.

‘We need to get him inside now,’ Rey says. ‘And tie him up. He’s a feisty one.’

Ben struggles, a bit half-heartedly.

‘See?’ Rey says. ‘Can you hold him while I knee him in the balls? That’ll keep him quiet for a while.’

Ben struggles again, a lot more convincingly this time.

‘I’m not sure that’s the approved procedure to subdue a suspect,’ the guard says. ‘But I see what you mean. Okay, hold on. I’ll get the door.’

He does.

Rey aims a quick fist-pump at the sky. ‘God bless you, Chewie,’ she whispers.

‘Damn, will you look at this,’ she says, louder, as the guard comes back with a coil of rope in his hands. ‘I don’t know what they make these uniforms out of, but it must be very substandard material. It’s just falling apart. See?’

The guard leans forward, oblivious to the fact that she no longer has hold of Ben, and gets a solid _donk_ on the back of his head with a fire extinguisher for his trouble.

They manhandle him into the porta-potty outside, then wrap the rope around it. Rey, in a fit of compassion, slips a magazine through the door before they shut it.

‘Told you this was a good plan,’ she says. ‘Now, let’s find this stuff we need and get out of here.’

But Ben’s frowning. ‘He saw your face, Rey. He might be able to identify you.’

She grins. ‘Even if he remembers what happened, and admits to it, I’m pretty sure I’ll be okay. I don’t think he spent much time looking at my face.’

‘That’s… probably true,’ he says, in a slightly strangled kind of voice. ‘Okay, here. This is the methylamine.’

The stuff’s in a giant drum, which is awkward to manoeuvre, but they manage to roll it out to the guard’s buggy, and from there they trundle back to the RV.

‘You know what you should do?’ Rey says, as they drive off.

‘What?’

‘Write it,’ she says. ‘The story. I bet there’s plenty of people who’d read the _shit_ out of it.’


	6. Friction Creates Heat

‘That,’ Rey says, when they’ve bagged and weighed the last batch, ‘is what you call a good day’s work.’

Ben’s not sure many normal people would agree with her, but he’s inclined to. Four pounds of product. Forty thousand dollars a pound. One hundred and sixty thousand dollars total. Eighty thousand for him. Or rather, for Oncology Partners of Jakku.

He lifts his hair off his neck with one hand and wipes the sweat from his forehead with the other. They might not know for sure what the final costs are going to be, but that’s going to be a hell of a chunk towards it.

Rey socks him in the arm, making him jump, and he realises she’s been waiting for a high five. Feeling only slightly foolish, he complies. A good day’s work deserves a little recognition.

She heads for the front of the RV, calling over her shoulder: ‘Okay, come on, let’s go. We need to get this to Hux, then get the cash to Chewie.’

‘Right,’ he says, then, ‘excuse me, Chewie? What?’

She throws him that long-suffering _here we go again_ look, then says, slower, ‘We need to get this to Hux, then—’

‘Yes, no, I heard you. I just don’t understand. Why are we taking the cash to Chewie?’

‘To clean.’

‘To… clean?’ For a moment he wonders what on earth Hux does with his money, then realises that’s probably not what she meant.

‘Yes,’ she says, and now he’s getting an eye-roll along with the look. ‘To clean. To rinse, to wash, to launder. You do get we need to do that, right?’

‘Uh…’

‘My God, you are _such_ a babe in the woods. What did you think, that we could just rock up with all these fat stacks and say, what, your fairy godmother brought it? Or you found it down the back of the sofa? Even if your fam buys that, taxman sure isn’t going to.’

Ben says nothing, because both her examples are better explanations that what he had, which was precisely nothing. He’s been so focused on getting the money that he hasn’t given a thought to where it’s supposed to have come from.

‘I see. Okay. So… Chewie?’

‘Yeah. We had a chat. He’s cool. He’ll wash it for us at eighty cents on the dollar and he’s even waiving his fee, which is a really sweet deal. I think we’re getting friends and family discount, you know, because of Han.’

‘So… not eighty thousand, then, but…’ he does the calculation. ‘Sixty-four. That’s okay. That’s still good. With the savings… if Amilyn can really borrow against her pension…What?’ She’s still giving him that look. ‘All right, what blindingly obvious thing have I missed now?’

‘Where do I start?’ she murmurs to herself. ‘Okay, let’s go with this: what did you think, that I’m going to leave all of you scrabbling for spare change while I, what? Go off to Maui?’

‘Oh. Well, I… wasn’t really thinking…’

‘No,’ she says dryly. ‘It’s not a habit of yours, is it?’

‘But Rey, that’s your money. And you need somewhere to live, so—’

She waves that away. ‘The squat might not be the prettiest place in Jakku, but it’s got four walls and a roof. It does the job. Would I like something nicer? Sure. But for now, I’m fine. Your mom needs fucking _cancer treatment_. That’s a bit more important than kitchen tiles and an espresso machine. Listen, you take what you need. What _she_ needs. We’re in this together, remember? Partners.’

Her eyes are on him, fierce and unrelenting. All Ben can do is nod. ‘Partners,’ he says, or tries to. For some reason, his voice doesn’t seem to be working.

‘All right, then,’ she says, apparently mollified. ‘Let’s go.’ She starts the engine, then shoots him a sidelong glance. ‘Don’t want to keep your boyfriend waiting.’

‘My… boyfriend?’ He frowns. ‘Are we still talking about Chewie?’

She snorts. ‘Not what I meant, although who knows? But no, I was talking about your man Armie. Hux.’

‘Hux? I… what?’

‘You really have no idea, do you?’She shakes her head in wonderment as she manoeuvres the RV around. ‘Babe in the woods doesn’t even begin to do it justice. You might just be one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, Mr Solo — _Ben_ — but you are also one of the most clueless.’

‘Rey, I have no idea what you’re talking about. What—’ He breaks off when the engine coughs and RV shudders to a halt, then completely forgets about ever finishing that sentence. Because it doesn’t start again.

‘No,’ Rey says, in the front seat. She taps the dashboard. ‘No, no, no. This can’t be right. _Shit_.’

‘What? Rey, what?’

‘We’re out of gas.’

‘We’re… what? How did that happen?’

‘You want a lecture on the workings of the internal combustion engine? We used it up, that’s how.’

‘You mean… you didn’t fill up the tank? Before we started out?’

‘Oh, that’s my job, is it? Shall I remind you who was doing the driving on the way out here? Driver gets the gas, shotgun gets the snacks. That’s how it works. That’s the _rules_.’ She holds up an empty bag of Funyuns. ‘I did my part, man.’

Ben sags, because she’s not wrong. And he’s pretty sure he ate most of that bag. ‘Okay. I’m sorry. So now we…’ he gazes out at the flat expanse of desert around them. ‘Well, we don’t start walking, that’s for sure.’ He looks at his cell. He’s got AAA membership, but…

Rey follows his gaze. ‘I’ll call Rose, get her to come out here. Hey, give me yours. I’m nearly out of credit.’

Ben does as he’s told, and listens to the burr of the line ringing on the other end.

‘Come on,’ Rey says, drumming her fingers on her thigh. ‘Pick up.’

Nobody picks up.

‘I’ll try Skinny Finn,’ Rey says, punching in another number. That rings out too.

‘Dammit,’ she says, after leaving two curt voicemails. ‘There’s nobody else going to haul their ass all the way out here just to do me a favour.’ She looks at Ben. ‘You want to try your dad?’

Ben looks around at the RV. The RV which is very, very obviously a mobile meth lab. Han’s been a scoundrel all his life, it’s true, but this is probably a step up from that. ‘Can we make that the last resort? Try your friends again.’

She does, with the same result.

‘They’re probably sleeping it off somewhere,’ she says. ‘One of them will call back. It won’t be long.’

‘Sure,’ Ben says, as she bashes out a text, and they sit down to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And wait.

First it starts to get dark, and then it starts to get cold. Really, _really_ cold.

They put back on every layer of clothing they’d taken off while they were cooking, and put their coveralls back on over that. Then they wrap themselves in the cheap linens they’d stripped from the cots, and finally in the partition curtains.

It’s still cold.

Really, _really_ cold.

‘Okay,’ Rey says. ‘Time for Plan B.’

Ben blows on his hands. ‘What’s Plan B?’

She looks at him askance. ‘Are you going to tell me you’ve never seen a nature documentary? We have to nuzzle together for warmth. Like penguins.’

‘Oh. Okay. That’s… quite a good idea. Conservation of body heat. I think you mean _huddle_ , though. That’s what they do. Penguins.’

‘I know what I mean,’ she mutters. ‘Okay, shove over. I’m coming in.’

He scoots up, making room for her on the cot, and opens his curtain. She ducks inside and he pulls it tight around them both.

‘This is too awkward,’ she says. ‘I’m going to strain something, sitting twisted like this. We should lie down, it’ll be easier.’

She’s right; it is. Although it still proves to be, from Ben’s point of view, a little… awkward. Lying on a bed with her pressed full-length against him is going to do a good job of warming him up, he can tell — it’s just that some areas are warming up considerably faster than others. He tries to shift away a little, but she’s not having it. Where he moves, she follows, curving herself snugly against his body.

‘Er,’ he says, when the, uh, _issue_ really can’t be ignored any longer. ‘Sorry.’

She sighs, then lifts her head and gives him the same kind of look she did earlier. ‘I suppose now you’re going to tell me you’ve never seen a rom-com, either? Or read a single piece of fan fiction?’

‘A piece of… what?’

She drops her head again, letting it fall on his chest. ‘I give up. You’re impossible. There’s no hope.’

‘What? Rey, I don’t understand you.’

‘No shit, Sherlock,’ she says. It comes out muffled, her face still pressed against his chest. Even through the fifteen layers of fabric he’s got on, Ben would swear he can feel the movement of her mouth on him. Feel the heat of it.

‘Do you want to?’ she says, shifting so that she can look up at him. In the muted starlight that’s managing to muscle through the RV’s filthy windows, her eyes are luminous.

‘Okay. I’m really going to have to spell this out, aren’t I? I can use small words, if that’ll help. Maybe a few diagrams.’ Her hand moves, tracing patterns along his chest. ‘Slot A, Tab B. That kind of thing. I’m sure you’ll pick it up eventually. If you _apply_ yourself.’

Her fingers carry on moving, going lower. Finding their way through the layers until they touch skin. Ben jumps as if he’s been hit by an electrical current. He says something, he doesn’t know what.

Rey’s fingers go still. ‘Is that Urk yes, or Urk no? Because some of those old rom-coms might have skated over the consent stage but this is the modern world and we don’t do that anymore.’ She sighs. ‘I mean, it’s possible we might not make it out of this, and it’d be a terrible shame if you were to die a virgin, but I’ll respect—’

‘It’s yes,’ he says. ‘Yes. Definitely yes. That is… if _you_ definitely want…’

‘For the love of God,’ she says. ‘Somebody get the dictionary on the phone. They need to invent a whole new word for you, because _oblivious_ just doesn’t cut it. Look at me, Mr Solo. _Ben_. Yes. I want. I have wanted for a long goddamn time. Now, is there any chance I can actually _get_?’

‘There is,’ Ben says, and it comes out low, like a growl. Rey shivers in his arms, but he doesn’t think it’s from the cold anymore.

He lowers his head just as she lifts hers. Both of their lips are chapped and rough, the curtain keeps trying to snag around his neck, and he’s disconcertingly sure his breath must taste of Funyuns, but Ben would still defy any romantic comedy in the history of cinema to come up with a more perfect kiss. He tries to tell her — that it’s perfect; that’s _she’s_ perfect, but she shushes him. ‘You did hear me say how long I’ve been waiting for this, right? Less words. More kissing.’

He does as he’s told.

Her arms twine around the back of his neck, one hand burying itself in his hair. He groans as her nails trail lightly over his skin, and kisses her some more. He kisses her until he can no longer breathe, until he can’t even remember why he needs to.

She wraps her legs around his hips, entangling them even further in the flailing curtain, and rocks against him. He’s harder than he can ever remember being in his entire _life_ , and there is way too much cotton and plastic and God knows what else between them.

‘Got to get… this stuff… off…’ he pants, wishing there was a loose edge that he could catch and pull, and have the whole thing unravel. Unwrap, like a present. Like the best present in the world.

‘Are you _joking_?’ she says, pushing his questing hand away. ‘It’s twenty below in there. No way I am getting naked.’

‘But… I thought you wanted… I thought we were going to…’

‘Oh, we are, trust me. In all conceivable ways. Just that not _that_ one, right at this moment. For now we’re going to do the non-hypothermic version, where we still have fun but don’t freeze to death.’

‘Oh,’ he says. Then: ‘ _Oh_.’

Her hand finds its way through the fabric layers a lot easier. ‘There we go,’ she says. ‘Friction. Friction creates heat. You’re not the only one who knows science.’

‘That’s thermodynamics,’ he gasps out. ‘Physics.’ But actually he thinks it must be magic, something supernatural, because nothing in the ordinary world could possibly feel this good. Her hand is still a little cold, but now it feels wonderful against his feverish, overheating body. She slides her hand up and down, slowly at first, then gaining speed. His heart does the same, his pulse pounding frantically in his ears. It sounds like her name — _Rey Rey Rey_ — as if she is the thing keeping him alive, sending the blood flowing through his veins and the breath whistling in his throat. Maybe she is. Or maybe she’s the thing that _made_ him come alive. He’s not sure he’s ever known what that word truly meant, before now.

His hips buck of their own according, pushing harder against her. Wanting _more_ , wanting _closer_ , wanting _now_. Above everything, wanting _her_. There are sounds coming out of his mouth, but he doesn’t know what he’s trying to say.

Then she murmurs his name, and that drives out all thought of trying to say anything at all. It drives out all thought full stop.

‘Come for me,’ she whispers, and he’s lost. There’s nothing he can do but let the fire she’s raised in his blood have its way; let it burn to a fever pitch that shorts out every nerve in his body and turns his vision white. Nothing he can do but obey her.

When he’s capable of thinking again — which takes a while — he thinks he might never do anything else.

She props herself up on one elbow and grins lazily at him, her eyes still full of heat. ‘My turn,’ she says. ‘Use your tongue.’

And yes. Yes. He is absolutely going to do every single thing she says, for the rest of his life.

She scoots further up, pushing her jeans and panties over her hips. Ben hunches down the other way, flipping the sheet over his head and pushing her knees as far apart as the clothing will allow. It’s not wildly comfortable and the angle is a little awkward, but as soon as he puts his mouth on her all that is forgotten. There’s just the slick warmth of her on his tongue, and the hitching, breathy noise it pulls from her. He explores her, teasing just a little by pulling back to lay a series of kisses on her thigh, then brings his tongue back to where she wants it, where she needs it. Her head goes back and he hears it thunk against the side of the RV, but there’s no change in the deep, rumbling sounds of pleasure she’s making, and he doubts she even noticed. She arches her back and he can feel her tensing, trembling, teetering on the edge of release.

‘Come for me, Rey,’ he murmurs, and whether it’s the words, the extra little movement, or the vibration of his voice he doesn’t know, but she cries out and her whole body goes rigid under his hands.

He strokes her as she comes down, as her breathing slowly steadies and she relaxes against him. He pulls the sheet, discarded at some unknown point, back over the pair of them as she tugs her clothing back into place and wriggles into a more comfortable position by his side. As before, she fits against him perfectly.

‘Whoof,’ she says, and there’s still a little tremble in her voice. ‘That was worth waiting for.’

Ben’s not sure if he’s back at the stage where he can form words again, so he just nods.

‘Although fuck me, it’s still cold. Okay, let’s get this sorted.’ She reaches up and grabs his phone off the worktop. ‘Hey, it’s me. Yeah. We’re done. Okay, yeah. You did? Cool. Thanks, Rose.’

‘Won’t be long,’ she says, handing the phone back to him. ‘They waited at the casino on the reservation — did pretty good on the tables, by the sound of it — so they’ll be here soon.’

‘Great,’ Ben says, blowing on his hands. Then frowns as what she said filters through.

Waited?

He checks the recent texts on his phone. _Rose 2 th rescue_ , the first one says. _We on way w gas._

Then there’s a reply: _Give me 30. Mb 45. Huddling fr warmth :)_

_Best trope EVAH!!11!_ comes next. _U such a playa_

_U know it girl_ is the final one. It was sent forty-five minutes ago.

Rey quirks her eyebrows at him and grins. ‘Problem?’

He pockets the phone and pulls her back against him, laying a kiss on her hair. ‘Nope. No problem at all.’

They wait a little longer, snuggled up happily, until Rose does indeed ride to the rescue. Ben’s seen her and Skinny Finn before, at the squat, but as they almost always seemed to be asleep, completely wasted, or both, he’s pretty sure they’ve never seen him.

Rose looks him up and down unashamedly, taking her time, then nods. ‘Primo,’ she says, giving Rey a thumbs up.

Skinny Finn, on the other hand, looks troubled. ‘I don’t know, Rey,’ he says. ‘Okay, this guy looks ripped, but… cheating on Kylo Ren? You sure that’s a good idea?’

Rose looks at him, then shakes her head and brings her palm up to cover her eyes.

‘I’ll be okay,’ Rey says, patting him on the arm. ‘Kylo’s apussycat, really, if you know how to, uh, _handle_ him.’ She grins at Ben. ‘And I’m pretty good at that, so… yeah. It’s fine. We’re all good.’ She heads for the driver’s seat. ‘Come on. Let’s get out of here.’

 


	7. The Boogeyman

They deliver to Hux on time and in full, which he is seriously impressed by. Rey can tell this, because he doesn’t have them killed.

‘This is good, I like it,’ he says, although he’s looking at Ben rather than the four tightly wrapped bags of meth she dumped on his desk. ‘I like it a lot. I think you have a bright future in this business, Mr Ren.’

An indignant part of Rey wants to do the ‘Hey, standing right here,’ thing, but a bigger part would rather not have Armitage Hux thinking about her future at all, so she says nothing.

He drops a duffel bag full of cash at Ben’s feet, then says, ‘I have an associate who would like to meet you. A very important man, and a leader in our industry. Normally he’s rather cautious about who he does business with, but he’s been very pleased with what he’s heard about you. His name is Gustavo Snoke.’

_Snoke_. Rey wraps her arms around herself, suddenly cold. She’s heard that name on the street before, whispered in the kind of tones adults use to frighten children: _the_ _boogeyman_.

A figure steps out of the darkness at the back of the room. The shadows seem to move forward with him.

Snoke is tall and thin, with hollowed-out cheeks underneath intense, piercing eyes. Like Hux, those eyes are drawn only to Ben; he gives no indication he is even aware of Rey’s existence.

She still doesn’t object. If she doesn’t want Hux thinking about her future, she doesn’t want Snoke thinking about her at all.

‘I sense great promise in you, Kylo Ren,’ he says. His voice is sibilant and somehow… slippery.Rey imagines it seeping into her ears like black, tarry oil. ‘The greatest sculptor cannot fashion a masterpiece from poor materials—’ this with a dismissive glance at Hux — ‘but you… you are different. Professional. You would make a fine addition to any business empire. For a long time, I have been looking for an apprentice. A second-in-command.’ He looks Ben up and down, much as Hux had done before, but with the predatory creepiness dialled all the way up to eleven and then some. ‘I believe I have found him.’

Hux makes a little sound of indignation, while Rey makes one of disgust. She’s starting to feel nauseous.

‘You will, of course, be well-rewarded,’ Snoke goes on, as if the matter’s already settled. As if Ben’s agreement was always a foregone conclusion. ‘You will have a high position in my organisation, one that comes with great recognition and respect. Great power.’

Rey’s stomach is churning violently now, clammy sweat breaking out on her forehead. Money, glory, power… all the things men are supposed to want. Supposed to dedicate their lives to achieving. Is it any wonder Snoke doesn’t believe he’ll meet any resistance?

And she can see it, can’t she? See it playing out like some kind of dark vision: Ben — no, Kylo; he would be Kylo Ren in truth, then — the enforcer at Snoke’s side, spreading terror and dread, with Hux at his feet like a dog, licking his boots and begging for scraps. She can see him turning away from her, from all of them, to serve his new master — embracing whatever horrors would be required to protect his interests. Luke Skywalker, Poe Dameron — they’d have to be neutralised, obviously; the DEA couldn’t be allowed to interfere. And no doubt Han, too; he’s too close, too wily. Too much of a potential threat. She can see it so terribly clearly: Ben — _Kylo_ — masked and armed, facing his father with Snoke’s whispering voice echoing underneath his own. _I know what I have to do_

Rey sways and closes her eyes, but the images remain. It feels so real; so horrifyingly, inevitably, real.

‘Join me, my boy,’ Snoke says, holding out one pale, spindly fingered hand.

The chilling, silent moment that follows seems endless. Eventually, Rey sees Ben’s arm start to move, and the air feels as if it’s solidifying in her throat, choking all the life and hope out of her.

But his hand doesn’t reach for Snoke’s; instead, it dives into his pocket and comes out with his phone. The screen is lit up with a text from Han.

‘Sorry,’ he says, after reading it. ‘I have to go. I’ve got to pick up some more cupcakes for my mom.’ He puts the phone away again, picks up the duffel bag and heads for the door. ‘Thanks for the opportunity, Mr Snoke, but I’ll pass.’

Rey blinks as the air rushes back into her lungs and her head clears, the vision snapping and fading to nothing. ‘Ooh, cupcakes,’ she says, and hurries out of the office after him.

*

‘A… cancer shower?’ Rey says, once they’ve dropped the duffel bag off with Chewie, picked up the order at the bakery, and driven back over to Ben’s house. ‘What exactly is a _cancer_ _shower_?’

Ben runs a hand over his eyes. ‘Confirmation, if you needed it, of how much the concept of ‘good taste’ is a mystery to my father.’

‘It’s a party,’ Han says patiently, taking the box of cakes out of Ben’s hands. ‘Your mother likes parties. So, we’re having parties. Parties and presents.’

‘Like those,’ Amilyn says, pointing to the pair of rainbow-coloured, thigh-length, platform-heeled boots that Leia’s currently pulling on. ‘For stomping cancer’s ass,’ she adds. ‘Stylishly.’

‘They’re gorgeous,’ Leia says, hugging her fiercely. ‘I shall wear them for every chemo session.’

‘And here’s something to take your mind off it, while you do,’ Luke Skywalker says, handing over a gift-wrapped box.

Inside is a beautiful wooden chess set. The white queen has been carved to look like Leia, the knights like Ben, and the bishops like Luke himself, while the pawns are all miniature versions of Han. The black king, to Rey’s eyes, looks rather like Snoke.

Leia laughs and gives her brother a hug too, while Han lifts one of the pawns to eye level and scowls at it. ‘My eyebrows are not that bushy,’ he says. ‘And I do _not_ have hair growing out of my ears.’

‘There may have been a little exaggeration for comedic effect,’ Luke says, deadpan.

‘I love it,’ Leia says, still laughing. ‘I’ll play the Grim Reaper, and I’ll stomp his ass too.’

‘Chess takes too long,’ Han says. ‘You want to play dice. With these.’

Han’s box is also beautifully wrapped, just a lot smaller. Leia takes out a pair of gold dice and cups them in her palm. ‘They’re lovely,’ she says, kissing him. ‘Thank you.’ Then: ‘Hold on.’ She lifts her hand experimentally. ‘Are these weighted?’

‘Hell yes, they are,’ Han says. ‘No way I’m letting you gamble without every advantage you can get, sweetheart.’

Leia laughs again. ‘Always the scoundrel,’ she says, lifting her hand to his cheek.

Han leans into her touch. ‘And you wouldn’t have it any other way.’

‘No. I really wouldn’t.’

Amilyn turns away. ‘Just got something in my eye,’ she says, fumbling for a tissue.

Ben coughs and pulls one out of the packet in her hand. ‘Yeah. It’s very, uh, dusty in here.’

‘I think a cancer shower is a wonderful idea,’ Rey says, smiling at Han. ‘ _Very_ tasteful.’ She plonks herself down on the sofa next to them. ‘But I didn’t know it was happing. I’m so sorry, Leia. I didn’t get you a present.’

‘Oh, child.’ Leia slips a hand around her shoulder and pulls her close. She can feel the heat of the older woman’s skin against her own. ‘Just you being here is more than enough.’ She glances up at Ben, who’s still standing with Amilyn. ‘The happiness in his eyes when he looks at you? Trust me, Rey. That’s the greatest present you could ever have given me.’

Luke blinks hard. ‘You know, I think there _is_ some kind of dust in the air here. I—’

He’s cut off first by the trill of his own phone, then Han’s.

‘Poe,’ Luke says, just as Han says, ‘Kaydel.’

Luke listens, his face turning serious. Han is also quiet, and in the lull, Poe’s voice can be clearly heard on the other end of the line: ‘… _significant breakthrough in the Kylo Ren case.’_

‘I’ll be right there,’ Luke says, then turns to Leia. ‘I’m sorry. I have to go.’

‘Me too,’ Han says.

Leia looks from one to the other. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Poe’s brought someone in,’ Luke says.

Han nods. ‘Yes, he has. My client.’

Rey jumps to her feet. ‘Oh, no,’ she says. ‘Don’t tell me—’

But they do. ‘Rose Tico,’ both say together.

*

Rey and Ben ride with Han to the DEA office. By the time they get there, Skinny Finn is also being held in a separate little windowless room.

‘You shouldn’t be talking to these people,’ Han says ‘They’re my clients.’

‘And my friends,’ Rey says.

Poe leans against the wall, his arms folded. ‘They’re also known associates of Kylo Ren. But you needn’t worry, either of you. They’re fine. Cooperating of their own accord.’

Rey swallows. ‘They are?’

Poe turns and gestures to the glass door. Behind it, Rey can see Rose sitting at a desk with another agent, both their heads bent over a stack of paper. ‘We called in a couple of forensic sketch artists,’ Poe says, sounding excited. ‘Best in the agency. Once we’ve got a picture of him, it’s only a matter of time. We are going to get this son of a bitch.’

‘Um,’ Ben says. ‘Poe? Uncle Luke? I think maybe there’s something I ought to—’

Han grips his arm. Hard. ‘Now now, Ben, let’s not distract these fine agents from their work. You and Rey can invite them to your engagement party later.’

Ben’s voice is a squeak. ‘Our — we —’

Han looks at Rey, who grips Ben’s other arm. ‘Your father’s right, uh, darling. It’s not the time for that conversation.’

‘Definitely later, though,’ Poe says. ‘I want to hear all about it. Damn, Solo. Good work. You’re a lucky man.’

‘Isn’t he?’ Rey says brightly, fervently hoping that holds true.

‘It’s a bit of a rush job,’ Han says, as Rey notices Luke’s gaze fall to her hand. Her empty, ringless hand. ‘Lots of things still to be done. But they wanted to organise the party before everything else. For Leia. You get that, don’t you, Luke? It’s all for Leia.’

Luke makes a rumbling noise that could mean agreement, or consideration, or just that he’s hungry. Rey’s not sure she knows what _anything_ means anymore.

In the room where Rose is sitting, the sketch artist finishes his drawing with a flourish and stands up. A door down the hall opens and another agent comes out, with a similar stack of paper.

‘Here we go, boss,’ Poe says, holding his hand out for them.

His expression is eager, but as he starts flicking through the pages it soon morphs into a frown. ‘What the fuck?’

‘What is it?’ Han says, craning his neck to try and see.

‘They’re useless,’ Poe says. ‘Look at this. Just _look_ at this.’

He holds up one of the sketches, and they all lean in. Rey squints at it. ‘Is that…’

‘Leatherface? From _Texas_ _Chainsaw_ _Massacre_? Yes. And this?’ He holds up another picture, which is clearly Freddy Krueger, and sighs. ‘So much for Skinny Pete. And Tico’s not much better. Look at this.’ He shows them a vague, fuzzy drawing of a big man with blurred features and dark hair. ‘This could be anyone.’ He makes a sound of disgust and shakes his head. ‘I mean, it could be _Ben_ , for heaven’s sake.’

‘Ha ha,’ Han says. ‘Yes, they really are completely useless, aren’t they? What a shame.’

‘So what happens now?’ Rey says, nodding towards the room where Rose is. ‘To my friends?’

Poe still looks disgusted. ‘I was going to let them off the possession change if they agreed to go to rehab, but since their _cooperation_ didn’t amount to much—’

‘Could I talk to her?’ Rey asks. ‘I know it’s… irregular, but… she might really know something, but be too afraid to tell you. If I talk to her, explain that it’s okay, that you’re the good guys…’

Poe looks at Luke, who makes that rumbling noise again. Apparently it’s an _affirmative_ rumble, because Poe shrugs. ‘What the hell. Why not? Give it a try, Rey. Maybe you can save all our asses.’

*

Rey gives a final nod to Rose, then opens the door and beckons Luke and Poe inside. ‘I’ve explained everything. She’s ready to talk now.’

‘Finally, we’re getting somewhere,’ Poe says. He takes a seat at the other side of the table. ’Okay, Tico. Tell us what you know. Who is Kylo Ren?’

Rose shoots one last glance at Rey, then folds her hands in her lap and focuses on Poe. ‘There is no Kylo Ren. He doesn’t exist.’

Poe’s eyes widen, while Luke’s narrow. ‘What?’

‘It’s just a cover story protect the real boss — the one who’s actually behind it all. Gustavo Snoke.’

Luke hisses between his teeth. ‘Snoke. I knew it.’

‘You’re saying it was all… made up? The Kylo Ren stuff?’ Poe asks.

Rose nods and leans forward. ‘We took ideas from, you know, wherever… books… horror films… Rey’s boyfriend in his fetish gear… and it worked really well. Once word got out, everyone else just ran with it.’

There’s a slight choking noise — Rey’s not sure who makes it — and she aims a fierce _stop_ _ad_ - _libbing_ glare at Rose, getting a little smirk in return.

‘Well,’ Luke says. ‘That certainly puts a new complexion on things.’

‘Doesn’t it just,’ says Poe, looking at Ben. His eyes are still very wide.

‘I heard Snoke operates out of the Mos Eisley Cantina,’ Rose says. ‘He might even be there today. I heard there was a big deal going down.’

Poe jumps up, but Luke puts a hand on his arm. ‘Wait. The Cantina is notoriously hostile territory. If we go in with guns blazing it could easily get out of hand. And we haven’t got any actual _evidence_ against Snoke. Not yet.’

‘Let us go in,’ Rey says. ‘Me and Ben.’

Everyone turns and stares at her like she’s crazy. Including Ben.

‘We can do it, no problem. I can just say I’m taking my fiancé to see where I used to work. We can check the place out, see if this Snoke is there and what he’s up to, and let you know. _Then_ you can go in with guns blazing.’

‘Whoa. I don’t think I like this plan,’ Han says. ‘Luke, tell me you don’t like this plan either. Luke?’

But Luke doesn’t look at him. He looks only at Rey. And eventually, he nods.

*

‘Don’t actually eat any of this,’ Rey says, after they’ve ordered lunch at the bar. ‘I’d skip the drinks too, unless you’ve brought your own glass. Oh, and don’t touch Beebee-Niney.’ She gestures at the black cat stretched out on one of the tables. ‘He looks adorable, but he’ll take your hand off as soon as look at you.’

‘Wonder where he got that idea?’ Peavey mutters, as he slides a glass of beer across to her. ‘What are you doing back here, Niima?’

‘We want to see Hux,’ she says, sliding the beer right back. Whatever’s swimming in it has a lot of legs, but that doesn’t seem to be helping it escape. ‘Get him down here. Now.’

Peavey snorts. ‘Yeah. Like Hux cares what you want.’

Rey aims a pointed glance at Ben, who’s got his hood pulled up and his head down. ‘How about what Kylo Ren wants? He care about that?’

Peavey gives her a sour look. ‘Wait here,’ he says, and reaches for the phone.

The syllable ‘Ky—’ is barely out of his mouth when Hux appears and brushes Peavey out of the way.

‘Is Snoke still here?’ Rey asks.

‘He is. Have you changed your mind about his offer, Mr Ren?’ he breathes.

‘No,’ Rey says. ‘But you might want to.’

Hux frowns. ‘Why? What does that mean?’

‘It means that this isn’t Kylo Ren. It never was.’ She leans over and unzips Ben’s hoodie. Hux tracks her every movement, his eyes gleaming and his mouth opening slightly.

Until he sees the DEA-issued bulletproof vest, at which point it snaps shut.

‘Fuck,’ he says, recoiling. ‘You’re DEA? So you were, what, undercover? All this time?’

‘ _Deep_ undercover,’ Rey says. ‘And we’re going to stay that way, so you’re going to keep your mouth shut. Well, about us, anyway. About Snoke, you can say what you like.’ She glances at the ceiling. ‘I assume he’s up there now, with his four pounds of beautifully cooked and horribly incriminating methamphetamine?’

‘You mean _my_ … oh. I see. Yes, I believe he is.’ He slides out from behind the bar and drops down at the nearest table. ‘Whereas I, of course, am only here for the delicious food and friendly environment. Hello, kitty, aren’t you a lovely — _yow_!’

Rey pulls the radio out of her pocket and raises it to her lips. ‘Good to go, Luke.’ She glances at the shrieking Hux. ‘And if you’ve got a paramedic who can do stitches and a tetanus shot, you might want to send them in too.’


	8. Wise Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who’s read, commented, or left kudos for this crazy story. I hope you had fun! I know I did 😁
> 
> Unashamed Happily Ever After fluff fest coming up...

‘Come and sit down,’ Amilyn says, steering Leia towards the sofa. ‘Han can finish the decorations.’ She plucks the _Congratulations on Your Engagement!_ balloon out of Leia’s hands and replaces it with a shoebox. ‘I know this is technically Ben and Rey’s party, but I still wanted to give you a present.’ She smiles and leans closer to drop a kiss on Leia’s hair. The soft grey fuzz, newly grown, tickles her nose. ‘I know your love your boots, but I thought these might be a little more comfortable, now that you don’t have to do any more stomping.’

‘I do love my boots,’ Leia says, leaning into her touch. ‘But I love these too. And you.’ She sighs blissfully as she slides her feet into the riotously furry purple slippers.

‘Hey, hey,’ Poe calls out, leaning past them to aim the remote at the TV. ‘Everybody, quick. It’s on.’

He settles back in the armchair with his plate of nibbles — Luke might be a pain in the ass as a boss sometimes, but he makes a _great_ cinnamon churro — and switches to Channel 3 as the others gather round.

‘—secret drug empire,’ the interviewer is saying, and the camera angle shifts to show the big warehouse behind her. At the bottom of the screen, a rolling line of text says: _DEA IN RECORD METH BUST: PROMINENT JAKKU BUSINESSMAN EXPOSED AS CRIME KINGPIN._

‘I’m here with Special Agent Poe Dameron,’ she goes on, ‘part of the DEA team working on this operation, which came to its conclusion with the raid of a series of meth labs today. Agent Dameron, how did this dangerous felon come to your attention?’

‘Do you think it’s true the TV adds ten pounds?’ Poe says, watching his image on screen explain that while he can’t divulge operational details, the DEA has a comprehensive and wide-ranging system of information sources. ‘He tried to hide his activities behind a web of lies and deception,’ TV-Poe says, ‘—a ‘Snoke-screen’, if you will — but he couldn’t fool the DEA.’

Amidst a chorus of pained groans, Leia pats his arm. ‘Your waistline comes across fine, Poe. Your jokes, on the other hand…’

‘What?’ Poe says, wounded. ‘Snoke-screen? You didn’t like Snoke-screen? C’mon. That’s an _awesome_ joke.’

Amilyn leans over and gives him a pat too. ‘Don’t give up your day job, honey.’

‘Well, no, I suppose I won’t be doing that.’ He grins happily. ‘Not when we just logged the department’s biggest haul on record, _and_ smashed a nationwide meth distribution network. That extra-pure crystal we were seeing? It’s gone. Hasn’t been any on the streets for ages now. Dealing and possession charges are dropping all the time.’

Han tops up Ben and Rey’s champagne glasses. ‘Well, I for one am glad to hear that.’

It earns him a slightly skeptical look from Poe. ‘Isn’t it bad for business, Counselor?’

‘I can live with that,’ Han says. He’s going to be seventy-five soon; he’s starting to wonder if it’s time to think about retirement. ‘Maybe I’ll go into the screenplay business with Chewie,’ he says, pouring the rest of the champagne into his own glass. ‘I’ve got plenty of stories I could tell.’

Leia twists around in her seat. ‘The what business?’

‘Oh, didn’t I tell you? Chewie made a deal with some Hollywood studio guy. They’re making a TV show out of this script he wrote — about a pair of bumbling drug dealers, funnily enough. It’s going to be a romantic comedy-drama heist caper, apparently. Whatever that is.’

‘Ooh, who’s going to play the attractive, roguish DEA agent?’ Poe asks, around a mouthful of flaky churro. ‘Tell them to get Oscar Isaac, Han. Very handsome fella, that.’

Han rolls his eyes while Rey narrows hers. ‘Bumbling?’ she says.

‘ _Bumbling_ ,’ Han repeats. ‘Yes. I’m told they _bumble_ about all over the place, barely avoiding disaster and taking years off the life of the poor, long-suffering — but also attractive and roguish — lawyer who’s busting his ass trying to keep them out of trouble. Chewie says it’s hilarious, and the TV people apparently agree.’

‘That reminds me,’ Leia says. ‘We really must have Chewie over for dinner soon. I want to thank him again for that investment he arranged for Ben and Rey. I know I like a regular pedicure, but I had no idea beauty salons could turn such a profit.’

‘Me neither,’ says Luke, in a very neutral tone. ‘You have some very wise friends, Han.’

Han claps him heartily on the back. ‘Don’t I know it, buddy. Don’t I know it.’

Leia smiles up at Rey and Ben.’And I need to thank you two again, for being so generous. The cost of all those treatments—’

Rey shakes her head. ‘We were glad to do it, Leia. And it turns out, I really like doing waxing. Especially men. All that chest and back hair, just…’ she makes a violent ripping motion. ‘Yanked right out at the root.’ She smiles as all the men in the room wince a little. ‘It’s very satisfying. I think I’ve finally found my calling.’

‘Oh, and don’t forget your friend Armitage,’ Amilyn says, patting her vibrant orange hair. ‘He’s a _marvellous_ colorist. Such a strong vision.’

‘Rey?’ Leia says, with a mock-severe frown. ‘Now, what have I told you about calling me Leia?’

‘Oh. Yes. Sorry. Uh.’ Rey has to clear her throat a few times. ‘Mom.’

Leia leans back in her seat again. ‘That’s better. And you’ll still have some money left over? For the wedding, and maybe a nice honeymoon?’

Rey nods. ‘I want to do something for Rose and Finn, once they get out of rehab — set them up in a little place somewhere, get them a fresh start. But yes, even after that, I’m sure we’ll have enough to do something.’ She aims a little grin at Ben. ‘Rent an RV or something, do a little desert road trip. Watch the night sky. Eat some Funyuns. See what happens.’

Leia shrugs. ‘I think I’d rather go off to Maui, myself. But you do you, as the young people say these days.’

‘Rey,’ Ben says quietly, pulling her into the kitchen and away from the others. ‘Mom’s in remission, Snoke’s in jail… it’s over, now. So…’ He shuffles his feet a little. ‘You know you don’t have to do this, don’t you?’

‘What?’ she says, apparently set on seeing if she can stuff an entire churro in her mouth in one go. ‘Chewie’s wax appointment? I mean, I know it’s going to be a marathon session, but you heard me, right? I _like_ —’

‘No, no. Not Chewie. Although you _are_ a far braver person than me for even attempting that. But no, I’m talking about this.’ He grabs one of the floating _Congratulations on Your Engagement!_ balloons. ‘It was a distraction technique, I know that. And it worked, but we don’t need it anymore. So you don’t have to go through with it.’

She stares at him. ‘Wow. I never even thought of that, but you’re right. So yeah, you know what? I think I’m just going to go back to the squat and pick up where I left off. Teedo might still be around, or maybe Unkar will get back in the business if I ask him nicely. So yeah, Mr Solo, what a great idea. Let’s just go our separate ways and forget we ever knew each other. You don’t mind if I take these churros with me when I take off, do you?’

‘Oh. I, uh, I didn’t mean… I don’t…’ He trails off, recognising the _give me strength_ look on her face. ‘Ah. You’re not being serious, are you?’

The expression doesn’t change. ‘No,’ he mutters. ‘Of course not. Right. It’s just…’ He runs a hand through his hair. ‘I know I pushed you into this whole thing, right from the start. I don’t want you to feel as if you have to keep pretending, for my sake. Or even for my mom’s. She’s a lot stronger now. She’d be okay if—’

He gets no further, because his head is yanked down and his lips silenced by hers. The kiss tastes of sugar and cinnamon.

‘Incognizant,’ she says, when they come up for air. ‘Imperceptive. Obtuse. Nope, still not good enough. Dictionary’s going to have to carry on working on that one.’

She lifts her left hand so that the light catches the ring on her finger. ‘Who the hell is pretending? You know you’re not getting this back, right?’ She grins and kisses him again. ‘And if you think you could ever push me into anything I didn’t want, then you _really_ haven’t been paying attention. Now come on, let’s get back. We don’t want to miss any more of the party, do we?’

‘No. We don’t.’ Rey takes his hand, and Ben smiles as he lets her lead him out of the room. He doesn’t intend to miss any more of _anything_.


End file.
